t 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


Is  1 


•i 


'"i 


III 


1.0    !!:■-  I 


I.I 


125 


^  U&   12.2 


2.0 


1.8 


L25  11114   IIIIII.6 


"1 


^1. 


i   » 


%* 


m 


7 


fs.^ 


L 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


mmmmmm'^ 


4. 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Histocical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


mwiMWi 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 
'J    D 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 


D 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommag^e 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restauree  et/ou  pelticulee 

Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

Lareliure  serr^e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int^rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoratiori  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajout^es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte. 
mais.  lorsque  cela  dtait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6td  filmees. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires: 


L'lnstitut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  dtd  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquSs  ci-dessous. 

□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommag^es 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 

r~^   Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
l/^l    Pages  d^color^es,  tachetdes  ou  piqudes 

□    Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tachees 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  materi: 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


I      I    Showthrough/ 

I      I    Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


D 
D 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  filmees  d  nouveau  de  fa9on  h 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous 

10X                              14X                              18X                              22X 

26X 

30X 

W 

%   \ 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


iplaire 
Les  details 
niques  du 
ent  modifier 
exiger  une 
de  flimage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grdce  d  la 
g^n^rositd  de: 

Library  of  Congress 
Photoduplication  Service 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  6x6  reproduites  avec  ie 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


s 

ted/ 
>iqu6es 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimde  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  Ie  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  Ie  second 
plat,  selon  Ie  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film^s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  Ie 
cas:  Ie  symbole  -^  signifie  "A  SUiVRE",  Ie 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


ntaire 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
film6s  6  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  f  ilmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  Ie  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


)d  by  errata 
ilmed  to 

>ment 

3,  une  pelure, 

e  fa^on  d 

tie. 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

■»i>.iriwi»iii>wai«i  BMiil«IIWi1lli>8Btll||BW*^ 


Coi 


TK 


:  •♦^ 


NARRATIVE 


:^^ 


Of  TUB 


CAI»T1VITY  OF  MRS.  JOHNSON. 


■COMTAlVtKft 


A>r   ACCOUMf  OF  HER  StrFPERINCS,  JiVHlNtt 
FOUR    YEARS,    WITH    THE    IN- 
DIANS ANI>  FRENCIf. 


TOOTRsa  With  j^N. :•■  -f  Co,t~, 


.>•' 


■=•4: 


APPEND!^ 


JLOJ. 


Containing  Hie  Sbsmoms,  preached  at  her  Funeral,  and  that  of 
her  Mother  ;  with  sundry  other  interesting  articles. 


''>of'>^.,w.i^*#"' 


Of',Yc: 


ja'>    »< : 


TRIBl>  BmTIOIT  CORKKCTBD,  ASSCONSn>IIlAn.T  SnLAKOl^li 

■MmB»ee>e*wi 

WINDSOR,  (Vt.) 
ifjttirnD  at  thomas  m,  fouiicr. 

1»14. 


"'!•■•>■  V  ^—— --..  - 


>;- 


?ik¥  Ai 


:      JDISTRICT  OF  VERMONT,  TO  WIT: 

BE  it  remembered,  that  on  the  thirtecnih  dav  .V 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  «!»«»-. 
entuled  «  An  Act  for  the  encourageme^of  Ieaii„"."by1ec«rS 
he  copies  of  maps  chartsand,  book,  to  the  authorf  and  prS 
tors  of  s«ch  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned"     ^ 

JESSE  GOVE, 
'C<eH  ^tht  Bhtrkt  of  yerrmnu 
A  true  Copy  of  Record, 
Examined  and  Staled  by  J.  Govb,  CUii- 


■'■"^fC?^^^-Vi 


»I 
ai 
ar 
ui 
ca 
ni 


of 
er 
U 


"^Si;.. 


■L 


NARRATIVE 


r: 

ecnth  day  eV 
ndependence 
LBBTH  Cap. 
ih  deposited 
fht  whereof 
following  to 

'ontalning  an 
Indiunt  and 
'Ae  StrmoM 
tuiUry  oth- 
:ontUera6ij 

ited  States, 
by  securing 
nd  proprie- 

OVE, 


OF  THE 


CAPTIVITY 


atb 


h::- 


Mrs.  JOriNSON. 

INTRODUCTION.  ' 

NOTICES  OF  THE  WILLARD  FAMILY 

TO  trace  the  progress  of  famiUcs^  from  the'rf: 
»rigtn  to  the  present  day,  when  perhaps  they 
are  spread  over  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe, 
and  no  memorandums  are  found  except  in  the 
unccrtam  pages- of  memory,  i»  a  task  which 
can  be  but  feebly  performed.  In  noticing  tfao 
name  of  Willa(;d».  which  was  my  family  name, 
I  cannot  pretend  to  accuracy  ;  but  the  infor> 
nation  which  I  have^ collected,  will  perhaps  be 
of  some  service  to  others,  who  possess  a  great- 
er stock;  and  if  the  various  branches  of  fami- 
lies would  contribute  their  mites^  it  would  be 


■amaw 


an  easy  way  of  remedying  the  deficiency,  which 
at  present  exists  in  American  genealogy. 

The  first  person  by  tlic  name  of  Willard  who 
settled  in  this  country,  was  Major  Willard, 
whose   name    is  recorded  in  the   history  of 
New-England  warsi    In  tlie  year  sixteen  hun- 
dred and  seventy  five,  in  the  time  of  *  Philip's 
war,"  a  notoriows  Itidian  who  lived  within  the 
present  limits  of   the  state  of  Rhode  Island, 
Major  Willard  who  then  lived  in  the  town  of 
Lancaster  in    Massachusetts,  commanded  a 
troop  of  horse  ;  aiwl  among  his  vigorous  ser- 
vices,  he  relieved  th«,town  of  Brookfield  from 
the  Nipnet  Indians,  who  had  burnt  every  house 
but  one,  and  had  almost  reduced  that  to  capit- 
ulation.    When  Lancaster  was  destroyed  by 
the  Indians,  Major  Willard  removed  to  Salem, 
where  he  spent  the  rest  of  his  days.     He  had 
two  sons,  ontr  of  whom  was  a  settled  minister 
in  the  town  of  Groton ;  whkh   place  lie  was 
driven  from  by  the  IjndianS,  and  was  afierwards 
installed  in  Boston.     His  other  son,  Simfon, 
€st.iblished  himself  on  StiU  River,  since  taken 
from  Lancaster,  and  incorporated  into  the  town 
<if  lii^ryard.     He  had  nine  sous,    Simon,  Hen- 
ry, Hezekiah,  John,  Joseph,  Josiiih,  Sirmnel, 
Jonuthan  and  James  ;  Josiah  removed  to  Win- 
chester  in   New-Hampshire,    and  afterwards 
cQmmanded''Foi1iDumnaer  ;  the  rest  inherhed 
the  substance  of  their  father,  a«d  lived  to  very 
advanced  ages  in  the  vicmity  of  their  birth. — 


, 


ovei 
Was 
and 
Mo! 
oug 
lard 
perj 
$he 
ofC 
by 

toC 

the 

him 

My 

ed 

chi 

gra 

chi 

/SCt 


-■J 

id! 
to 
sol 

i 

kin 

abl 

wa 


"«*«it^. 


icy,  which 

"gy- 

'^iliard  who 
Willard, 
history  of 
:teen  hun- 
*  Philip's 
within  the 
de  Island f 
e  town  of 
nianded  a 
)rous  ser. 
field  from 
ery  house 
to  capit- 
Toyed  by 
to  Salem, 
He  had 
minister 
!C  lie  was 
jffierwards 
1,  Simon, 
»ce  taken 
>  the  town 
ion,  Hen- 
Siimnely 
I  to  Win- 
fterwards 
inherhed 
;d  to  very 
birth.— 


;' 


l^ey  all  left  numerous  fomilies,  who'  spread 
over  the  United  States.  His  eldest  son,  Simon 
was  my  grand- father  ;  he  had  two  sons,  Aaron 
and  Moses  :  Aaron  lived  in  Lancaster,  and 
Moses,  my  father,  rcmovedto  Lunenburg.  1 
oucht  to  remark,  that  my  grandmother  Wil- 
tard,  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  married  a 
person  by  the  name  of  Farnswortb,  by  whom 
she  had  three  sons,  who  were  the  first  settlers 
of  Charlestown,  No.  4— one  of  them  was  killed 
by  the  Indians.  " 

My  father  had  twelve  children ;  heremoveil 
to  Charlestown,  No.  4,  in  1742,  and  soon  had 
the  pleasure  to  find  his  children  settled  around 
him  •  he  was  killed  by  the  Indians  in  1756.— 
My  mother  died  in  May,  1797,*  and  had  hv. 
ed  to  sec  twelve  children,  ninety-two  grand- 
children, one  hundred  and  twenty-three  great  ^ 
srand-children,  and  four  great-grcat-grand 
children.  The  whole  that  survive  arc  now 
^settled  on  Connecticut  River. ' 

NOTICES  OF  MR;  JAMES  JOHNSON; 

IN  the  year  17aO  my  gi^t-uncle,  Coloikit 
fdsSrii  Willard,  while  at  Boston,  was  iiiyited 
to  take  a  walk  on  the  long- wharf,  to  view 
some  transports  who  hadi  just  landed  frbtri  Ire- 

*  At  the  age  of  eighty 'four,  she  busied  hcTself  in  ma- 
king a  coverlid,  which  conlaina  aamething  of  the  renmrk- 
ablc— she  did  not  quite  complete  it,  it  nowcom^BB  up- 
wardi  of  S**c  thousand  pieces. 

A2 


,j^ 


••.•jifiu  -  -imir 


i 


land  ;  a  number  of  gentlemen  present  were 
viewing  the  excFcise  of  some  lads  who  were 
placed  on  shore,  to  exhibit  their  activity  to 
those  who  wislicd  to  purchase.  My  uncle 
spied  a  boy  of  some  vivacity,  of  about  ten 
years  of  age,  and  wh©  was  the  only  one  in  the 
crew  who  spoke  English  :  he  bargained  for 
hrm.      I  have  never  been  able  to  learn  the 

frice  ;  but  as  he  was  afterwards  my  husband, 
am  willing  to  suppose  it  a  considerable  sum. 
He  questioned  the  boy  respecting  his  parent- 
age and  descent.  All  the  information  he  could 
get  was,  that  young  James,  a  considerable 
time  previous,  went  to  sea  with  his  uncle,  who 
commanded  a  ship  and  had  the  appearance  of 
a  man  of  property,  that  this  uncle  was  taken 
sick  at  sea  and  died  ;  immediately  after  his 
death  they  came  in  sight  of  this  ship  of  Irish 
transports,  and  he  was  put  on  board.  His 
being  the  only  one  of  the  crew  who  spoke 
English,  and  other  circumitanccs,  have  led 
his  friends  to  conclude  that  this  removal  on 
board  the  Irish  ship,  was  done  to  facilitate  the 
seouestration  of  his  uncle's  property.  He  liv- 
edwitb  Col.  Willard  until  he  was  twenty  years 
old,  and  then  bought  the  other  year  of  his  time. 
In  ^^748  Gov.  Shirley  gave  him  a  lieutenant's 
coihinissiofi  under  Edward  Hartwell,  Esq. 

SITUATION  OF  THE  COUNTRY  IN  1744. 

It  is  ao  old  maxim,  that  after  a  man  is  in 


po< 
is  ( 
so 
hal 
dii 
wi 
on 

CO 

th 

Wi 

ha 
he 
b< 
in 
in 
th 
di 

IV 

tl 

si 

S( 

g 

a 
w 

V 
V 

r 
I 

V 

a 


7""  '• 


!sent  were 
who  were 
activity  to 
My  uncle 
r  about  ten 
one  tn  the 
rgained  for 
>  karn  the 
Y  husband> 
rrable  sum. 
hrs  parent- 
on  he  could 
onstderable 
uncle,  who 
»earance  of 
:  was  taken 
y  after  hia 
up  of  Irish 
>ard.  His 
who  spoke 
have  led 
:nK>val  on 
cilitate  the 
,  Heiiv. 
renty  years 
}f  his  time, 
ieutenant's 
11,  Esq. 

IN  1744. 

man  is  in 


possession  of  a  small  independent  property,  it 
is  easy  for  him  to  acquire  a  great  fortune  ;  just 
so  with  cotmtries  j— possess  them  of  a  few  in- 
habitants, and  let  those  be  unmolested  by  In- 
dians and  enemies,  the  land  will  soon  swarm 
with  inhabitants.    But  when  a  feeble  band 
only  arc  gathered  together,  and  obliged  to 
contend  with  pestilence,  famine  and  the  sword, 
their  melancholy  numbers  will  decrease  and 
waste  away.     The  situation  of  our  ancestors 
has  oftCB  been  deacribed  in  language  tbat  did 
honor  to  the  hearts  that  conceived  it.      Ihc 
boisterous  ocean,  with  unknown  shores  hem* 
incd  them  in  on  one  side,  and  a  forest,  swarm- 
ing with  savages,   yelling  for  their  blood, 
threatened  on  the  otlKr.     But  the  same  un- 
daunted spirk  which  has  defended  them  in  so 
many  perils,  buoyed  thtm  above  despair  hi 
their  early  struggles  for  safety  and  liberty,     I 
shall  be  pardoned  for  the  digression  when  I  ob- 
serve, that  I  have  in  .all  my    travels    felt  a  de- 
gree of  pride  m  recollecting,  that  I  belonged  to 
a  country  whosevalor  was  distinguished,  and 
whose  spirit  had  never  been  debased  by   se». 
vile  submission. 

At  the  age  of  fourteen,  in  1744,  I  made  a 
visit  from  Leominster  to  Charlestown,  to  visit 
my  parents.  Thro*^  a  long  wilderness  from 
Lunenburff  to  Lower  Ashuelot,  now  Swanzey, 
we  travelled  two  days  ;  a  solitary  house  w^ 
aU  tlW  mark  of  cultivation  that  occurred  on  tfte 


(.WWMWk^ 


Pi#MMi*««KW<3iE^^x«MMM 


-  "    *  ^mid^i/ttmimm^gt^tfm 


journey.  Guided  l?y  marked  trees,  we  travi 
cited  cautiously  through  the  gloomy  forest, 
where  now  the  wcUtill'd  farms  occupy  each 
rod  of  ground  ;  from  Ashuelotto  Charlestown 
the  passage  was  opposed,  now  by  «« the  hill  of 
difficulty/'  and  now  by  the  slough  despond. 
A  few  solitary  inhabitants,  who  appeared  the 
representatives  of  wretchedness,  were  scatter- 
ed  on  the  way. 

When  I  approached  the  town  of  Charles; 

town,  the  first  object  that  met  my  eyes  was  a" 

party  of  Indians  holding  a  war  dance,  a  cask 

of  rum  which  the  inhabitants  had  suffered 

them  to  partake  of,  had  raised  their  spirits  to 

all  the  horrid  yells,  and  feats  of  distortion 

which  characterize  the  nation.     I  was  chilled 

at  the  sight,  and  passed  tremblingly  by.     At 

this  time  Charlestown  contained  nine  or  ten 

famHies,  who  lived  in  huts  not  far  distant  from 

each  other.      The  Indians  were  numerous, 

and  associated  in  a  friendly  manner  with  the 

whites.     It  was  the  most  northerly  settlement 

on  Connecticut  Itiver,  and  the  adjacent  coun* 

try  was  terribly  wild.     A  sawmill  was  erect. 

ed,  and  the  first  boards  were  sawed  while  I 

was  there  :  the  inhabitants  commemorated  the 

event  with  a  dance,  which  took  place  on  the 

new  boards.     In  those  days  there  was  such  a 

mixture  on  the  frontiers,  of  savages  andscttlersj 

without  established  laws  to  govern  them,  that 

the  state  of  society  cannot  be  easily  described. 


and 

was 
crtei 
ofr« 
ants 
tooV 

liUt 


1 

ma< 

by 

em 

Faf 

of 

del 

ha\ 
inh 

C01 

da; 

agi 
Ca 
tat 

r 

tei 

er 
G 

c< 


■■**Wir'  f^'H^-^Mi  -■••-'--■'••  ■-' 


•Ifw 


«•»• 


we  travi 
ny  forest, 
cupy  each 
larlestown 
the  hill  of 
I  despond. 
)eared  the 
re  scatter- 

Charles; 
yea  was  a ' 
:e,  a  cask 
1  suffered 
spirits  to 
distortion 
as  chilled 

by.  At 
ne  or  ten 
>tant  from 
utnerous, 

with  the 
ettlcment 
nt  coun' 
as  erect> 

while  I 
tratedthe 
ce  on  the 
IS  such  a 
i  settlers; 
lem,  that 
escribed, 


m    ■ 

■f  ; 

aftd  the  impending  dangert  of  wurj  "^J^ 
was  known  thut  the  savages  would  jom  the 

of  refinement  tmd  cuitivation.     Ihc  /^»^rt.. 
antHofChairlestwon  began  to  f^^^/^'^^^ 
took  some  steps  lorArards  clearing  their  farms  , 
Ijiit  war  soon  checked  their  uiduslty. 

CHARLESTOWN. 

IN  the  year  1740,  the  fim  tettkwem.  Was 
made  in  the  town  of  Charlwtown,  then  knoWn 
bv  the  name  of  No.  4,  by  three  famrties  who 
emigrated  from  Lunenb«rg,   by  the  name  of 
Farnsworth  ;  that  part  of  New  Han.pshire  west 
of  Merimac  River  was  then    a  trackless  wil- 
derness.    Within  a  few  years  past  instances 
have  been  known,  of  new  townshipn  total^  un. 
inhftbited.becoming thick  settled  vvHage. Ui^ 
course  of  six  or  seven  years.     But  m  those 
days,  when  government  was  weak,  wl>en  sav- 
aees were  on  our  borders  and  frenchmen  m 
Canada,  popuUition  extci^ded  with  timorous  and 
tardy  paces  ;  in  the  course  of  twelve  ye.>rs  tte 
femUies  increased  only  to  twenty  wo  or  three. 
The  human  race  will  not  flourish  unless  ibs- 
tered  by  the  warm  sunshme  of  peace. 

During  the  first  twenty  years  of  its  exist, 
ence  as  a  settled  place,  «ntil  the  pe««<=  ^^^^ween 
Gwat-Britain  and  France,  it  suffered  alt  tl* 
consternation  and  ravages  of  war  ;  not  that 


i»ud$IMC> 


I 


'      !      ' 


-  » 

'1 


i- 


10 

otner,  but  the  cruel  carnage  of  savaees  and 

•  Svesfron.  P''^°-^'^^^'^"^«^^""g  them. 
foSZhT""^''?""'"^'^^  they  became 
h^Z^!^  *^'"^''*  ^'^^  "*»*  ^^^^  industrious 

crell  1^  IT  ^u^.'*'  *^^  inhabitants  began  to 
erect  a  fort  for  their  safety;     When  the^Cape 

the  hatchet  ^Tr"*^'^'^^^  Indians  assumed 

M,?'  ttrv'^  '"^n-^  tal;i;,^'4ta^^ 

F^L.^^^^^^^^^^^^  'o?tSse^^nd^;fc 

S S^P*'^  ^"^'^^."^  ^as killed.'  Tw13^;^ 
?       Capt.  Payne  arrived  with  a  troop  of  horse 

from  Massachusetts,  to  defend  th^  place  1 

about  twenty  ofhismenhad  the  curSv'^ 

view  the  place  where  Putnam  was  k  Knd 

vens  xvho  commanded  a  few  men  rushed  out 
of  the  fort  to  their  relief ;  a  sharp  combat  en 
sued,  m  which  the  Indians  were  routed  :  the v 
left  some  pns  and  blankets  on  the  field  of  a^ 
tion  but  they  carried  their  dead  off  with  the^ 
which  IS  a  policy  they  never  omit.     Ensien 

Famswor^'^"r\"T„^n"^^^'    '"^  Samuel 
jamsworth,  Llijah  Mien,  Peter  Perin  Aaron 


Or 

t«ok 
sachi 


mgo 
little 


I 


r.^Xr^.'^tSfersaasssss- 


'age  with  caoh 
savages  and 

fd  ill  thedu- 

itering  them- 
they  became 

h  industrious 

nts  began  to 
len  the  Cape 
ians  assumed 
redations  on 
^pnl,  A.D. 
king  Captain 
«d  Steplien 
condofMay 

Two  days 
oop  of  horse 
^  place  ; — 
suriosity  to 
>  killed,  and 

Capt  Ste- 
rushed  out 
combat  en. 
tited  :  they 
field  of  ac- 
with  them, 
'*    £nsign 
i)d  Samuel 
rin,  Aaron 
s  to  Indian 


On  the  19th  of  June  a  severe  engagement* 
t»ok  place.     Capt.  Brown,  from  stow  in  Mas- 
sachusetts,  had  previously  arrived  with  some ' 
troops ;  a  party  of*his,  joined  a  number  of 
Capt.  Stevens'  soldiers  to  go  into  the  meadow? 
after  their  horses.     The  dogs  discovered  an 
ambush,  which  put  them  into  a  posture  for  ac- 
tion,  and  gave  them  the  advantage  of  the  first 
fire.     This  disconcerted  the  savages,  who  be,  * 
ineon  higher  ground  over-shot,  and^did  but 
little  damage     to    the    English.       The  enc- 
my  were  routed,  and  even  seen  to  drag  several 
dead  bodies   after  them.    They  left  behind 
them  guns,  spears,  and  blankets,  which  sold  at 
401.  old  tenor.     During  the  time  Capt.  Josiah 
Brown  assisted  in  defending  the  fort,  Jedediah 
Winchel  was  killed,  Samuel  Stanhope,  Coronet 
Baker  and  David  Parker  were  wounded.     Du- 
rin»  this  summer  the  fort  was  entwely  blocka- 
ded", and  aU  were  obliged  to  take  refuge  within 
the  piquets.     On  the  3d  day  of  August  one 
Phillips  was  killed  within  a  few  feet  of  the  fort, 
as  he  accidentally  scpped  out ;  at  night  a  sd'- 
dier  crept  to  him  with  a  rope,  and  he  was  drawn 
into  the  fort  and  interred.    In  the  summer  of 
the  year  1746    Capt    Ephraim  Brown  Irom 
Sudbury,  arrived  with  a  troop  of  horse  to  re- 
lieve  Capt.  Josiah     Brown.     The  Sudbury 
troop  tarried  abo  t  a  month,  and  were  reliered 
by  a  company  commanded  by  t  apt.  Winches- 
tei:^  who  defended  the  plaec  tiU  ftutuva,  whc» 


Sv:mMi^i<fax'.,  m.iwti^.  —  i 


J-,**!"       I  II  I 


1j2' 

the  ifthaibitattts,  liUgaed  with  waibching,  and 
weary  of  the  dtwgers  <A  Uie  forest,  deserted 
the  place  entirely  for  about  six  months,  in  the 
month  of  August  previous  to  the  evacuation, 
the  Indiank  assisted  by  their  brethren  the 
Fieni:h,  were  very  troublesome  and  mischie- 
vous ;  they  destroyed  all  the  horses,  hogs  and 
cattle.  An  attack  was  made  on  the  tort,  which 
lasted  two  days.  My  father  at  this  time  lost 
ten  cattle,  but  the  people  were  secured  behind 
their  wooden  \vsA\&,  and  received  but  little  dam* 
age. 

In  this  recces  of  the  settlement  of  No.  4,  the 
Indians  and  French  were  ice4ocked  in  Canada^ 
and  the  frontiers  suffered  onlyin  vipprchen&ion. 
In  March  17i7,  Capt.  Phinehas  Stevens,  wbd 
commanded  a  ranging  party  <tf  about  30  men* 
marched  to  No.  4,  and  took  possession  of  the 
fort,  he  found  it  uninjured  by  the  enemy^ 
and  an  old  spanidl  and  a  cat,  who  had  Veen  do- 
mesticated before  the  evacuation,  had  guarded 
it  safely  thro'  the  winter,  and  gave  the  troops 
a  hearty  weltomc  to  th.  ir  tenement. 

Capt.  Stevens  was  of  eminent  service  to  the 
infant  settlement  In  1748  he  moved  his  femi. 
ly  to  the  piacCf  and  ;cncau  raged  the  settlers  by 
his  forticnde  aiid  industry.  In  the  early  part  of 
his  life,  whei>  Rutland  suffered  by-  savage  ven- 
gcance»  wlien  the  Kcv.  Mr.  Wilbrd  was  mur- 
dered, h*  was  taken  prisoner  and  csmried  to  St. 
Ftaneis.     ihis  informed  him  of  the  Indian 


oustc 
mod< 
soldti 
In 
bcssii 
5001 
Deb( 
and  r 
batth 
whic 
inver 
Somi 
of  mi 
arrov 
parts 
to  da 
assai 
with 

to  CO 

such 
featei 
sieur 
India 
vens, 
chanj 
rcfus 
hosta 
some 
plied 
treatt 
rison 


'*. 


Bchbg,  and 
St,  deserted 
hs.  in  tihe 
evacuation, 
rethren  the 
id  mischie- 
s,  hogs  and 
;  fort,  which 
is  time  lost 
jred  behind 
It  little  dam* 

fNo.  4,  the 
1  in  Canada^ 
prchen&ion. 
levens,  wboi 
ut  30  men^. 
isioK  of  the 
the  enemyt 
lad  Veen  do- 
lad  guarded 
:  the  troops 
It. 

Tvicc  to  the 
■ed  his  &ini« 

settlers  by 
early  part  of 
savage  ven- 
d  was  mur- 
suried  to  St. 

the  Indian 


oustoms,  and  familiarized  him  with  iheii 
mode  of  warfare  :  he  was  an  active,  penetrating 
soldier,  and  a  resjiectable,  worthy  citizen. 

In  a  few  days  after  the  fort  was  taken  pos- 
session of  by  Capt.  Stevens's  troops,  a  party  of 
500  French  and  Indians,  commanded  by  Mons. 
Debelcie,  sallied  from  their  den  in  Canada, 
and  made  a  furious 4ittack  on  the  fort.  The 
battle  lasted  five  days,  and  every  stratagem 
which  French  policy  or  Indian  malice  could 
invent,  was  practised  to  reduce  the  garrison. 
Sometimes  they  made  an  onset  by  a  discharge 
of  musquetry,  at  others  they  discharged  fire 
arrows,  which  communicated  fire  to  several 
parts  of  the  forti.  But  these  were  insufficient 
to  daunt  the  courage  of  the  little  band  that  were 
assailed.  Their  next  step  was  to  fill  a  cart 
with  combustbles,  and  roll  it  against  the  walls, 
to  communicate  fire  ;  but  the  English  kept  up 
such  a  brisk  incessant  fire  that  they  were  de- 
feated in  the  project.  At  length  the  Mon- 
sieurs,  tired  with  fighting,  beat  a  parley  ;  two 
Indians,  formerly  aequainted  with  Capt.  Ste- 
vens.  came  as  negociators,  and  wished  to  ex- 
change some  furs  for  corn  ;  tliis  Capt.  Stevens 
refused,  but  offered  a  bushel  of  corn  for  each 
hostage  they  would  leave  to  be  exchanged,  at 
some  future  day*  These  terms  were  not  com- 
plied with,  and  on  the  fifth  day  the  enemy  re- 
treated, at  which  time  the  soldiers  in  the  gar- 
rison honored  them  with  as  brisk  a  discharge 

D. 


H^immmmi^mtmmmttmm 


i|ij)illiiiiii«fii 


«s  they  could  afford,  no  let  them  know  that 
they  were  neither  disheartened  nor  exhausted 
in  ammunition.  The  garrison  had  none  kil- 
led,  and  only  one,  by  the  name  of  Brown,  was 
Wounded. 

Perhaps  no  place  was  ever  defended  with 
greater  bravery  than  this  fort  during  this  ac 
tion  ;  30  or  40  men,  when  attacked  by  500, 
mast  have  an  uncommon  degree  of  fortitude 
and  vigilance  to  defend  themselves  during  a 
siege  of  Eve  days.  But  Capt.  Stevens  was 
equal  to  the  task,  and  will  be  applauded  by 
posterity.  After  the  battle  he  sent  an  express 
to  Boston  with  the  tidings.  Gov.  Charles 
Knowles  happened  to  be  then  at  Boston,  and  re- 
warded  Capt.  Stevens  with  a  handsome  sword, 
in  gratitude  for  which  the  place  was  afterwards 
called  C/iarkitoivn. 

In  November  1747,  a  body  of  the  troops 
set  out  from  the  fort,  to  return  to  Massachu- 
setts :  they  had  not  proceeded  far  before  the 
Indians  fired  on  them.  Isaac  Goodale  and 
Nathaniel  Gould  were  killed,  and  one  Ander- 
son taken  prisoner.  From  this  period  until 
the  end  of  Cape  Breton  war,  the  fort  was  de- 
fended by  Capt.  Stevens.  Soldiers  passed  and 
repassed  to  Canada,  but  the  inhabitants  took 
sanctuary  in  the  fort,  and  made  but  little  pro- 
gress  in  cultivation.  During  the  Indian  wars, 
which  lasted  till  the  year  1760,  Charlestown 
was  noted  more  for  its  feats  of  war,  than  a. 


Liu"iPM'">'" 


•wW-«M*JiO»«- 


know  that 
r  exhausted 
)d  none  kil- 
Brown,  was 

'ended  with 
ing  this  ac- 
:edby  500, 
of  fortitude 
es  during  a 
tevens  was 
plauded  by 
t  an  express 
)v.  Charles 
Jton,  and  re- 
3me  sword, 
s  afterwards 

the  troops 
Massachu- 
before  the 
oodale  and 
)ne  Ander- 
eriod  until 
>rt  was  de- 
s  passed  and 
•itants  took 
t  httle  pro- 
ndian  wars, 
^harlestown 
war,  than  a. 


It 

place  of  rapid  improvement.    Settlers  thought 
ftmore  prudent  to  remain  with  their  friends  in 
safety,  than  risk  their  scalps  with  savage  pow- 
er.     Since  that  period,  it  has  become  a  flour- 
ilhing  village,  and  contains  all  that  a  rural  sit- 
3  affofdsof  the  useful  and  the  pleasant ; 
numerous  farms  and   stately   buf  ings  row 
flourish  where  the  savage  roamed  the  torest.-- 
The  prosperity  of  the  town  was  greatly  pro- 
moted  b/the  Kev.  Bulkely  Olcott,  who  was  a 
settled  minister  there  about  32  years     In  the 
character  of  this  good  man  was  combined  the 
agreeable  companion,  the  industrious  cilizen 
and  unaffected  christian.    During  the  who  c 
of  his  ministry,  his  solicitude  for  the  l^«PP;«"f 
ofhisparishoners  was  as  conspicuous,  m  tiie 

benefits  they  received  from  his  assistance,  as  in 
their  sincere  attachment  to  his  person.  As  a 
divine  he  was  pathetic,  devout  and  instruc- 
tive,  and  may  with  propriety  be  said  to  have 

Shewn  the  path  to  heaven,  and  led  the  way. 

He  was  highly  respected  through  life  :  in  June, 
1793,  he  died,  much  lamented. 

REMOVALTOCHARLESTOWN,  fcc. 

IN  May  174fi,  wti  received  information  of 
the  ccssatL  of  arms  between  Great  Britain 
and  France.  I  had  then  been  married  about 
two  years,  and  Mr.  Johnson's  enttrprising  spl- 
it wns  zealous  to  remove  to  Charlestown  .  in. 


'fmimmmim 


■ih.- 


p.ijr:u 


16 

June  we  undertook  the  hazardous  and  fatijru- 
|n{^  journey  :  we  arrived  sale  at  the  fort,  and 
found  five  famihes,  who  had  ventured  so  far 
into  the  woods  during  hostilities.      But  the 
J^loomy  forest,  and  the  warlike  appearance  ol 
the  place,  soon  made  me  homesick.     Two  or 
three  days  after  ray  arrival,  orders  came  from 
Massachusetts  to  withdraw  the  troops :  govern- 
ment placed  confidence  in  the  proffered  peace  ol 
I'  reochmen,  and  withdrew  even  the  appearance 
of  hostility.     But  French  treachery  and  savage 
malice    will  ever  keep  pace  with  each  other. 
Without  even  the  suspicion  of  danger,  the  in- 
habitants went  about  their  business  of  husband- 
ry.     The  day  the  soldiers  left  the  fort,  Ensign 
O  >adiah  bartwell  went  to  harrow  some  corn 
and  took  hnos  Stevens,  the  fourth  son  of  Phin. 
ehas  Stevens,  Esq.  to  ride  horse  ;  my  father 
and  two  brothers  were  at  work  in  the  meadow  ; 
early  in  the  afternoon  the  Indians  appeared  and 
shot  Ensign  Sartwell  and  the  horse,  and  took 
young  Stevens  a  prisoner.     In  addition  to  thi:;, 
my  father  and  brothers  were  in  the  meado\\', 

i'i^  ^^^  supposed  they  must  be  destroyed ! 

My  husband  was  gone  to  Northfield.  In  the 
fort  were  seven  women  and  four  men  :  the 
anxiety  and  grief  we  experienced  was  the 
highest  imaginable.  The  next  night  we  dis- 
patched  a  post  to  Boston,  to  carry  the  news  of 
our  disaster,  but  my  father  and  brothers  did 
not  return.     The  next  day  but  one  mv  hna 


•' 


band  I 

field. 

inge^ 

when 

troop 

allmc 

there 

theg 

his  tc 

his  w 

The 

head< 

mer. 

but  1 

recti 

last  ( 

Bret 


mus 

ity- 

dist 

and 

tile 

and 

tiire 

is  p 

sid( 


I  iiinfciwitiififtlir-, 


'■•'""""'•"•"*  til  i  II I  I  III  1.111,11,1 


-mm»     pi  I!  I  ii|,i,'Mi.i'" 


and  fatijru, 
'.  fort,  and 
ired  so  far 

But  the 
earancc  oi 

'I'wo  or 
came  from 
s :  govern- 
ed peace  oi 
•ppcarancc 
md  savage 
:ach  other, 
er,  the  in- 
fhusband- 
rt,  Ensign 
)me  corn, 
11  of  Phin. 
my  father 
meadow ; 
eared  and 
and  took 
)n  to  this, 
meadow, 
roycd. — 

In  the 
nea  :  the 
was  the 
:  we  dis. 
:  news  of 
[lers  did 
T\v  hiis- 


M     ■ 

band  and  five  or  six  others  arrived  from  North- 
field.     We  kept  close  in  the  garrison,  suffer- 
ing every  apprehension  for  ten  or  twelve  days, 
when  the  sentry  from  the  box  cried  out  that 
troops  were  coming  :  joyful  at  the  relief,  we 
all  mounted  on  the  top  of  the  fort,  and  among 
the  rest  discovered  my  father.     He,  on  hearmg- 
the  guns,  supposed  the  fort  was  destroyed,  left 
his  team  in  the  meadow,  and  made  the  best  of 
his  way  to  Northfield  with  my  two  brothers.-- 
The  soldiers  were  about  thirty  in  number,  and 
headed  by  Major  Josiah  Willard,  of  Fort  Dum- 
mer.     Knos  Stevens  was  carried  to  Montreal, 
but  the  French  commander  sent  him  back  di- 
rectlv,  by  the  way  of  Albany.    This  was  the 
last  damage  done  the  frontiers  during  the  Cape 
Breton  War. 

CURSORY  NOTICES  : ,: 

A  detail  of  the  miseries  of  a  "  frontier  man," 
must  excite  the  pily  of  every  child  of  human- 
ity.    The  gloominess  of  the  rude  forest,  the 
distance  from  friends  and  competent  defence, 
and  the  daily  inroads  and  nocturnal  yells  of  hos- 
tile Indians,  awaken  those  keen  apprehensions 
and  anxieties  which  conception  can  only  pic- 
ture.   If  the  peaceful  employ  ment  of  husbandry 
is  pursued,  the  loadedmusketmuststandby  his 
side  ;  if  he  visits  a  neighbor,  or  resorts  on 
Sundays  to  the  sacred  house  of  prayer,  the 

B  2, 


ir 


'  'ipif" 


:' 


■m 


l>r 


is 

weapons  of  war  must  bear  him  company  ;  at 
honie,  the  distresses  of  a  wife,  and  the  tears  of 
lisping  children  often  unman  the  soul  that  real 
danger  assailed  in  vain.     Those  who  can  re- 
collect the  war  that  existed  between  France 
and  England  fifty  years  ago,  may  figure  to 
themselves  the  unhappy  situation  of  the  inhab- 
itants on  the  frontiers  of  New- Hampshire  ;  the 
malice  of  the  French  in  Canada,  and  the  exas- 
perated  savages  that  dwelt  in  tlieir  vicinity, 
rendered  the  tedious  days  and  frightful  nights 
a  season  of  unequalled  calamities.     The  daily 
reports  of  captured  families  and  slaughtered 
friends,  mingled  grief  with  fear.      Had  there 
been  an  organized  government,  to  stretch  forth 
its  protecting  arm,  in  any  case  of  danger,  the 
misery  might  have  been  in  a  degree  alleviated. 
But  the  intancy  of  our  country  did  not  admit 
of  this  blessing.     While  Governor  Shirley  of 
Massachusetts,  was  petitioning  to  England  for 
a  fleet  and  army,  Benning  Wentworth,  the  go- 
vernor of  New- Hampshire,  implicitly  obeying 
the  advice  trf  his  friend  Shirley,  remained  in- 
actively  secure  at  his  seat  at  Portsmouth.     At 
the  commencement  of  the  year  1745,  the  ex- 
pedition to  Louisburg  was  projected,  the  sue- 
cess  of  which  originated  from  ihe  merest  acci- 
dent,  rather  than  from  military  valor  or  gener- 
alship  ;  this  drained  New- Hampshire  of  most 
of  its  eflfective  men.     From  that  period  till  the 
peace,  which  took  place  in  the  year  1749,  the 


sava 

the 

whi 

boU 

thej 

Ne^ 

nee 

rim 

the 

No 

son 

few 

Ca] 

ins 

tin 

the 

dai 

the 

At 

th< 

su 

be 

sti 

le! 

Fi 

fa 

\h 

[\i 

y< 

di 

tc 


jmpany  ;  at 
the  tears  of 
3iil  that  real 
I'ho  can  rc- 
een  France 
^  figure  to 
itheinhab- 
pshire  ;  the 
d  the  exas- 
;ir  vicinity, 
itful  nights 

The  daily 
ilaughtered 
Had  there 
Iretch  forth 
anger,  the 

alleviated. 

not  admit 

Shirley  of 
ngland  for 
th,  the  go- 
ly  obeying 
mained  in- 
outh.  At 
5,  the  ex- 
),  the  sue- 
crest  acci. 

or  gener- 
e  of  most 
iod  till  the 

1749,  the 


19 

savages  committed  frequent  depredations  cu 
the  defenceless  inhabitants,  and  the  ease  with 
which  they  gained  their  prey,  encouraged  then 
boldness,  and  by  scattering  in  small  parties, 
they  were  able  to  infest  the  whole  frontier  ot 
New.Hamshire,  from  fort  Dummer  on  Con- 
necticut river,  to  the  lowest  settlement  on  Mer- 
rimack.    During  this  war,  which  is  known  by 
the  name  of  the  Cape  Breton  war,  the  town  ot 
No.  4  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  inhabited  ; 
some  adventurers  had  made  a  beginning,  but 
few  were  considered  as  belonging  to  the  town. 
Capt.  Stevens,  whose  valour  is  recorded  as  an 
instance  of  consummate  generalihip,partofthc 
time  kept  the  fort,  which  afforded  a  shelter  to 
the  enterprising  settlers  in  times  of  imminent  « 
danger.    But  even  his  vigilance  did  not  save 
the  town  from  numerous  scenes  of  carnage. — 
\x.  the  commencement  of  the  peace,  in  1 749, 
the  enterprising  spirit  of  New-England  rose^ 
superior  to  the  dangers  of  the  forest,  and  they 
began  to  venture  innovation.     The  Indians, 
still  thirsty  for  plunder  and  rapine,  and  regard- 
less of  the  peace  which  their  masters,  the 
French,  had  concluded,  kept  up  a  flying  war- 
fare, and  committed  several   outrages  upon 
lives  and  property  ;  this  kept  the  increasing  in- 
habitants in  a  state  of  alarm,  for  three  or  four 
years  ;  most  of  the  time  they  performed  their 
daily  work  without  mokstation,  but  retreated 
to  the  fort  at  each  returning  night. 


lilWr>,ijlr^tiriiW«WI1ii 


II   ■•-f'ifilff'* 


•mm^mm^m 


I 


2© 

^  Our  country  has  so  long  been  exposed  tc 
Indian  wars,  that  recitals  of  exploits  and 
suffennRs,  of  escapes  and  deliverances 
have  become  both  numerous  and  trite— 
1  he  air  of  novelty  will  not  be  attempted  in  the 
[vir^L"^  ^T'  '  ''™P'^  f«^*«'  unadorned,   is 

lermgs,  and  admiration  at  my  safe  return,  is  all 
that  my  history  can  excite.     The  aged  man. 
while  prrusmg,  will  probably  turn  his  atten! 
tion  to  the  period  when  the  Pacts  took  place^ 
hismeniory  will  be  refreshed  with  the  sad  ti. 
cJings  of  his  country's  sufferings,  which  gave 
a  daily  wound  to  his  feelings,  between  the  years 
1740  and   1760;   by  contrasting  those  days 
with  the  present,  he  may  rejoice  that  he  wit- 
nesses those  times  which  many  have  "  waited 
for,  but  died  without  a  sight."      J'hose  "  in 
early  life,''  while  they  commisserate  the  sut 
lerings  which  their  parents  and  ancestors  en. 
dured,  may  felicitate  themselves  that  their  lines 
tell  ma  land  of  peace,  where  neither  savages 
Bor  nciglilioring  wars  molest  their  happinesfi! 


S( 

jor  \ 

arms 

icst 

ings 

dcd 

or  fa 

land! 

conf 

T 

toaj 

they 

intei 

itsv 

ture 

peai 

Indi 

tant 

of 

Joh 

mo' 

fror 

sett 

his 

fret 

cha 

bla 


■«»ini|j>iiii  ,jii]i  I.  jJljaijiiTri  .ipinnn 


icposed  ttt 
>Ioits  and 
liveranccs 
I  trite.— 
ted  in  the 
orned,   is 
r  my  suf- 
urn,  is  all 
3;ed  man, 
his  atten. 
ok  place^ 
e  sad  ti- 
ieh  gave 
the  years 
ose  days 

he  wit- 
"  waited 
lose  "  in 
the  suf- 
stors  en« 
leir  lines 

savages 
)iness. 


l.IIAr.  /. 

SirUATlON  UNTIL  AUGUST  31,  1754. 

SOME  of  the  soldiers  who  arrived  with  Ma- 
ior  Willard,  with  tlie  inhabitants  who  bore 
Cis.  were  'commanded  bv  Capt.  Stevens  the 
S  of  the  year  1749,  an«i  part  of  the  follwo- 
iL  spring -.after  which  the  inhabitants  res.- 
ded  Sretfy  much  in  the  fort,  until  the  spring 
o  faK  of  tL  year  1752.  They  cultivated  heir 
lands  in  some  degree,  but  they  put  but  httlc 
confidence  in  the  savages.  a.^t^^^ 

The  continuation  of  peace  began  by  degrees 
to  appease  the  resentment  of  the  I'«J«n^;  J^ 
they  appeared  to  discover  a  wish  for  friendly 
intercourse.     The  inhabitants  in  No.  4..  and 
its  vicinity ,rclaxed  their  watchfulness,  and  vcn. 
tured  more  boldly  into  the  fields.     livery  ap- 
pearance of  hostility  at  »<^"g^^^/^";^^^^- :    ' 
Indians  expressed  a  wish  to  trathc,  the  inhabi. 
tants  laid  by  their  fears,  and  thought  no  more 
of  tomahawks,    nor   sc.lpnig  knives     ^  Mr. 
Johnson  now  thought  himsel    justified  in  re- 
moving  to  his  farm,  an  hundred  rods  distant 
from  the  fort,  which  was  then  the  uppermost 
settlement  on  Connecticut  River   he  pursued 
his  occupation  of  trade,  and  the  Indians  made 
frequent  visits  to  traffic  their  furs  for  Iks  mer- 
chandize.    He   frequently  credited  them  for 
blankets  and  other  necefcsanes,  and  m  most  vu 


ymmu  y  nmn*i 


'  \ 


22 

stances  they  were  punctual  in  payment.    Dur  * 
ing  the  year  1753,  all  was  harWony  Jnd  stfety 
nTn  Vk   "'^"*'  '"^'"'"^  "'•^'^  tolerable  rapidu; 

n~"7  T'^'^y  ^'^'^'^  "«""»«  the  ap- 
pearance of  «uItivation.  *^ 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1754  beean 

nd  S"r°'r  ^P^'^''*^'-'^"  the  fS 

r.n,  •  ^  '*>.'"^  «'  the  dividing  line  between 

iect  of  contention,  ,t  xvas  iT.adiIy  seen  that  the 
frontier  towns  tvould  be  in  imminent  danVer! 

rl  /'  'T^^l'**^  ^'"'"  ^««  "ot  expected  Mr 
Johnson  thought  that  he  might  risk  the  ^atetv 

tfc'r  rulde^''^'^  "^"^^'  tour  t JcoS 
xicut,  lor  trade.     He  sat  out  the  last  of  Mav 

and  h,s  absence  of  three  months  was  a  teSs 

and  a  bitter  season  to  me.     Soon  after  his  de 

will  tear.  The  Indians  were  reported  to  be 
Srstat'if'"''''^  ^"'•""^  clestructiSu.  and  our 
la  tt^r  f'^""  '°"'"''"  ^^"^^""'•mation  gave  full 
rZuA    °'*  ^^''gg^r^tion  of  news,  before 

""r  bfe  rvo'd -I  '  '•"  ^"^^  ^^^^-^^'^•^^  -Ve 
iiorriDie  beyond  description,  and  even  ihe  Wuht 

ouse,  and  seeing  my  neighbors  tread  cail 
tiously  by  each  hedge  and  hillock,  lest  some 
secreted  savage  might  start  fo.thti  !ke  thdr 
scalp,  my  fears  would  baffle  description      A 
larms  grew  louder  and  louder,  tillSur  npPrt 


ijcns 

news 

on  I 

the  a 

hear 

rour 

witli 

atoi 

C 

allr 

He 

a  vv 

-noi 

had 

fieh 

ed, 

am 

fan 

agt 

wa 

pul 

br< 

am 

ou 

an( 

it ; 

las 

he 

mi 

tei 

lei 

of 


ent.  Dur 
'  and  safety 
Ic  rapidity, 
tne  the  ap- 

754  began 
the  French 
le  between 
as  the  ob. 
:n  that  the 
nt  danger, 
cted,  Mr. 
the  satety 
>  Connec- 
t  of  May, 
a  tedious 
•r  his  de- 
;Iy  alive" 
ted  to  be 
and  our 
gave  full 
before  it 
iRht  were 
ihe  light 
anxiety, 
my  log. 
fad  cau- 
st  some 
ike  their 
on.     A- 
r  apprc- 


•3 

ucnsions  were  too  stronely  confirmed  by  t>ie, 
news  of  the  cV^rc  of  Mr.  Malloon's  family 
on  Merrimack  River  ;  this  reached  us  about 
the  20lh  of  August.    Imagination  now  saw  and 
heard  a  thousand  Indians  ;  and  I  never  went 
round  my  own  house,  without  first  looking 
with  trembling  caution  by  each  corner,  to  see  if 
a  tomahawk  was  not  raised  for  my  destruction. 
On  the  24th  of  August  I  was  relieved  from 
all  my  fears  by  the  arrival  of  my  husband.— 
He  brought  intelligence  from  Connecticut  that 
a  war  was  expected  the  next  spring,  but  that 
no  immediate  danger  was  contemplated.     He 
had  made  preparations  to  remove  to  North- 
field,  as  soon  as  our  stock  of  hay  was  consum- 
ed, and  our  dozen  of  swine  had  demolished  our 
ampel  stores  of  grain,  whish  would  secure  his 
family  and  property  from  the  miseries  and  rav- 
ages of  war.     Our  eldest  son,  Sylvanus,  who 
was  six  years  old,  was  in  the  mean  time  to  be 
put  to  school  at  Springfield.     Mr.  Johnson 
brought  home  a  large  addition  to  his  stores, 
and  the  neighbors  made  frequent  parties  at 
our  house,  to  express  their  joy  for  his  return, 
and  time  passed  merrily  off,  by  the  aid  of  spir- 
it  and  a  ripe  yard  of  melons.     As  I  was  in  the 
last  days  of  pregnancy,  I  could  not  join  so 
heartily  in  their  good  cheer  as  I  otherwise 
might.     Yet  in  a  new  country,  pleasure  is  of- 
ten derived  from  sources  unknown  to  those 
less  accustomed  to  the   woods.  *  The  return 
of  my  husband,  the  relief  from  danger,  and 


J 


-V"'iiKHi'Mii< 


24 

the  crouds  ef  happy  friends,  combined  to 
render  my  situation  peculiarly,  agreeable.  I 
now  boasted  with  exultation,  that  I  should,  with 
husband,  friends  and  luxuries,  live  happy  in 
spite  of  the  fear  of  sav;  ges. 

On  the  evening  of  tlu*  29th  of  August  our 
house  was  visited  by  a  party  of  neighbors,  who 
spent  the  time  very  cheerfully  with  waternicl* 
ons  and  flip,  till  midnight  ;  they  all  then  re- 
tired in  high  spirits,  except  a  spruce  young 
spark  who  tarritd  a  few  hours  longer  to  keep 
company  with  my  sister.  Unsuspicious  oidan- 
ger,  we  went  to  bed  with  feelings  well  tuned  for 
sleep.  But  O  the  transition  in  the  morning  ! 
Well  would  it  have  been  for  us  if  we  had  ob- 
bcrved  the  caution  of  the  poet. 

«<  But  farewell  now  to  unsuspiciouo 'nights, 

And  slumbers  unaUrn^'d  !  Now  ere  you  ^Ieep 

See  that  your  polish  d  arms  are  prim'd  with  care» 

And  droi)  the  night  bolt  j— ruffians  are  aliroad; 

And  the  first  larum  of  t»ie  cock's  shrill  throat 

May  prove  a  tr\imp«t,  summoning  your  ear 

To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  wiihin. 

E'en  day-li)fht  has  iis  dangers  j  and  the  walk 

Through  pathless  wastes  and  woods,  unconscious  once 

Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds, 

Or  harmless  Hocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold.'' 

Beautirt  oJCawfn. 

We  rested  with  fine  composure,  till  mid  Way 
between  daybreak  and  sunrise,  wheYi  we  were 
roused  by  neighbor  Labarree's  knocking  at 
the  dooi,  who  had  shouldered  his  ax  to  a  day's 
work  f  ^r  my  husband.  Mr.vJohnson  slipped 
on  lii^  jacket  and  trowsers,  and  stepped  to  the 


door  : 

he  op 

dians 

hesp 

of  da 

them 

stairs 

a  cro 

rushe 

frient 

were 

hauli 

of  nn 

son, 

deliv 

that 

than 

thret 

I  wa 

there 

enez 

ber, 

and 

little 

whei 

that 

ed  t 

gave 

petti 

plun 

was 

to  n: 


ombined  to 
reeablc.  I 
hould,  with 
e   happy  in 

\ngust  our 
jhbors,  who 
ti  waternicK 
11  then  fe- 
nce young 
'T  to  keep 
ious  ot  dan- 
11  tuned  for 
morning  ! 
we  had  ob- 


leep 

th  care» 
oad; 
oat 
!ar 

ilk 
gcious  once 


of  Cam/ter. 

till  midway 
tiwe  were 
nocking  at 
i  to  a  day's 
on  slipped 
)pcd  to  the 


door  to  let  him  in.    But  by  opening  the  door 
he  opened  a  scene— terrible  to  describe  !  !  In- 
dians !  Indians  were  the  first  words  I  heard, 
hesp  rang  to  his  guns,  but  Labarree,  heedless 
of  danger,  instead  of  closing  the  door  to  keep 
them  out,  began  to  rally  our  hired  men  up 
stairs,  for  not  rising  earlier.     Bui  in  an  instant 
a  crowd  of  savages,  fixed  horribly  for  war, 
rushed  furiously  in.   I  screamed  and  begged  my 
friends  to  ask  for  quarter  ;  by  this  time  they 
were  all  over  the  house  ;  some  up  stairs,  some 
hauling  my  sister  out  of  bed,  another  had  hold 
of  me,  and  one  was  approaching  Mr,  John- 
son, who  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  to 
deliver  himself  up  t  but  the  Indian,  supposing 
that  he  would  make  resistance,  and  be  more 
than  his  match,  went  to  the  door  and  brought 
three  of  his  comrades,  and  the  four  bound  him. 
I  was  led  to  the  door,  fainting  and  trembHng  ; 
there  stood  my  friend  Labarree,  bound ;  Eb- 
enezer  Farnsworth,  whom  they  found  ijp  cham- 
ber, they  were  putting  in  the  same  situation, 
and  to  complete  the  shocking  scene,  my  three 
little  children  were  driven  naked   to  the  place 
where  I  stood.     On  viewing  myself  I  found 
that  I  too  was  naked.    An  Indi  an  had  plunder- 
ed three  gowns,  who,  on  seeing  my  situation, 
gave  me  tlie  whole.     I  asked  another  for  a 
petticoat,  but  he  refused  it.     After  what  little 
plunder  their  hurry  would  allow  them  to  get, 
was  confusedly  bundled  up,  we  were  ordered 
to  march.     After  going  about  20  rods  we  fell 

C. 


■iwiririiilM^ 


S6 


behind  a  rising  ground,  where  we  halted  to 
pack  the  things  in  a  better  manner ;  while  there, 
u  savage  went  back  as  we  supposed  to  fire  the 
buildings.     Farnsworth  proposed  to  my  hus- 
band  to  go  baek  with  him,  to  get  a  quantity  of 
pork  from  the  cellar,  to  help  us  on  our  journey  ; 
but  Mr.  Johnson  prudemly  replied,    that  by 
that  means,  the  Indians  might  find  the  rum, 
and  in  a  fit  of  intoxication  kill  us  all.     The  In- 
dian  presently  returned  with  marks  of  fear  in 
his  countenance,*  and  we  were  hurried  on  with 
all  violence.     Two  savages  laid  hold  of  each 
of  my  arms,  and  hurried  me  through    thorny 
tliickets,  in  a  most  unmerciful  manner.     I  lost 
a  shoe  and  suffered  exceedingly.     We  heard 
the  alarm  guns  from  the  fort.     This  added 
new  speed  to  the  flight  of  the  savages.     They 
were  apprehensive  that  soldiers  might  be  sent 
for  our  relief.    When  we  had  got  a  mile  and 
a  half,  my  faintness  obliged  me  to  sit.    This 
being    observed  by  an  Indian,  he  drew  his 
knife,  as  I  supposed,  to  put  an  end  to  my  ex- 

*  TliiSf  as  we  afterwards  found,  was  occasioned  bf  his 
meeting  Mr.  Osmer  at  the  door  of  the  house,  who  Iodg« 
ed  in  the  chamber,  and  had  secreted  himself  behind  • 
box,  and  was  then  making  his  escape.     He  run  directif 
to  the  fort,  and  the  alarm  guns  were  fired.    My  father. 
Mr;  Moses  Wiilard,    was  then  second  in  command. 
Capt.  Stevens  wan  for  saf:>:ng  out  with  a  paity  for  our 
relief ;  but  mf  fath  er  begged  him  to  desist,  as  the  In- 
dians made  it  an  invariable  practice  to  kill  their  prison* 
eta  when  attackad. 


isteni 

whici 

mco 

husb 

and  I 

theb 

loss  I 

pain! 

was 

that 

appe 

som< 

from 

dow 

sight 

belo 

of  tl 

pre^ 

pres 

mg 

had 

chil< 

hon 

tim< 

^hi 

witl 

tool 

me, 

sons 

Sco 

on 

end 


:  halted  to 
vhile  there, 
[  to  fire  the 
to  my  hus- 
quantity  of 
If  journey ; 
5,  that  by 
1  the  rum, 
.  The  III- 
s  of  fear  in 
ried  on  with 
>Id  of  each 
igh  thorny 
ler.     I  lost 

We  heard 
This  added 
jes.  They 
ight  be  sent 

a  mile  and 
>  sit.  This 
le  drew  his 
1  to  my  ex- 

:ask>ned  bjr  his 
uae,  who  Iodg« 
iseir  behind* 
Se  run  directif 
).  My  father. 
i  in  command, 
a  paity  for  our 
esiit,  as  the  In- 
ill  their  prison* 


istencc.    But  he  only  cut  some  bands  with 
which  my  Rown  was  tied,  and  then  pushed 
mc  on.     My  little  children  were  crynig,  my 
husband  and  the  other  two  men  were  bound, 
and  mv  fister  and  myself  were  obliged  to  make 
the  best  of  our  way,  with  all  our  might.      1  nc 
loss  of  my  shoe  rendered  travelling  extremely 
painful.     At  the  distance  of  three  miles  there 
was  a  general  halt  ;  the  savages,  supposing 
that  we,  as  well  as  themselves,  might  have  an 
appetite  for  breakfast,  gave  us  a  loaf  of  bread, 
some  raisins  and  apples,  which  they  had  taken 
from  the  house.     While    we    were    forcing 
down  our  scanty    breakfast,    a  horse  came  m 
sight,  known  to  us  all  by  the  name  of  Scoggm, 
belonging  to  Phinehas  Stevens,  Esquire.     One 
of  the  Indians  attempted  to  shoot  him,  but  was 
prevented  by  Mr.  Johnson.     I'hey  then  ex- 
pressed  a  wish  to  catch  him,  saying,  by  point- 
ing to  me,  for  squaw  to  ride ;  my  hiisband 
had  previously  been  unbound  to  assist  the 
children,  he,  with   two  Indians,  caught  the 
horse    on  the  banks  of  the  river.    By  this 
time  my  legs  and  feet  were  covered  with  blood, 
which  being  noticed  by  Mr.   Labarree,  he, 
with  that  humaniljr  which  never  forsook  him, 
took  his  own  stockings  and  presented  them  to 
me,  and  the  Indians  gave  me  a  pair  of  mogga- 
sons.     Bags  and  blankets  were  thrown  over 
Scoggin,  and  I  mounted  on  the  top  of  them,  & 
on  we  jogged  about  seven  miles,  to  the  upper 
end  of  WUcoti's  Island.— We  there  halted, 


M 


and  prepared  to  cross  the  river ;  rafts  were 
made  of  dry  limber— two  Indians  and  Farns- 
worth  crossed  first — Litbarree,  by  signs,  got 
permission  to  swim  the  horse,  and  Mr.  John- 
son was  allowed  to  swim  by  the  raft  that  I  was 
on,  to  push  it  along.  We  all  arrived  safe  on 
the  other  side  of  the  river,  about  four  o'cloek 
in  the  afternoon  ;  a  fire  was  kindled,  and  some 
of  their  stolen  kettles  were  hung  over  it,  and 
iilled  with  porridge.  The  savages  took  delight 
in  viewing  their  spoil,  which  amounted  to  for- 
ty or  fifty  pounds  in  value.  They  then,  with  a 
true  savage  yell,  gave  the  war-whoop,  and 
bid  defiance  to  danger.  As  our  tarry  in  this 
place  lasted  an  hoar,  I  had  lime  tu  riflcct  on 
our  miserable  situation.  Captives,  in  the  pow- 
er  of  unmerciful  savages,  without  provision, 
and  almost  without  clothes,  in  a  wilderness 
where  we  must  sojourn  as  long  as  the  children 
of  Israel  did,  for  ought  we  knew,  and  what 
added  to  our  distress,  not  one  of  our  savage 
masters  could  understand  a  word  of  English. 
Here,  after  being  hurried  from  home  with 
sucli  rapidity,  1  have  leisure  to  inform  the 
reader  respecting  our  Indian  masters.  They 
were  eleven*  in  number,  njen  of  middle  age, 
e>:cept  one,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  who  in  our 

*  Mr.  Labarree  is  very  positive,  and  I  think  Mr.  John- 
son was  of  the  same  opinion,  that  stventeen  Indians  at^ 
tacked  the  house  ;  tlie  other  six  might  have  been  a  scout- 
ing party,  that  watched  till  we  were  out  of  danger,  ar^d 
tUen  took  another  route. 


jouri 

trou 

nati( 

pris< 

mas 

whe 

dian 

rous 

non 

took 

crty, 

and 

the 

mos 


ami  I  I  M<'i«aLU«^iiiw^iAv««a«Jaat!iaMy.ij^ 


29 


rafts  were 
>  and  Fiirns- 
y  s'g"s,  got 
I  Mr.  John. 
\  thiit  I  was 
ived  safe  on 
four  o'cloek 
cl,  and  some 
over  it,  and 
took  delight 
nted  to  for- 
then,  with  a 
vhoop,  and 
tarry  in  this 
.<■)  reflect  on 
in  the  pow- 
provision, 
wilderness 
he  children 
,  atid  what 
our  savage 
of  English, 
home  with 
inform  the 
ers.  They 
niddle  age, 
ho  in   our 

ink  Mr.  John- 
en  Indians  at- 
been  a  scout- 
f  danger,  ar^d 


journey  discovered  a  very  mischievous  and 
troublesome  disposition.     According  to  their 
national  practice,  he  who  first  laid  hands  on  a 
prisoner,  considered  him  as  his  property.     My 
master,  who  was  the  one  that  look  my  hand 
when  I  sat  on  the  bed,  was  as  clever  an  In- 
dian as  ever  I  saw  ;  he  even  evinced,  at  nume- 
rous times,  a  disposition  that  showed  he  was  by 
no  means  void  of  compassion. — The  four,  who 
took  my  husband,  claimed  him  as  their  prop- 
erty, and  my  sister,  three  children,  Labarree 
and  Farnsworth,  had  each  a  master.     When 
the  time  came  for  us  to  prepare  to  march,  I  al- 
most expired  at  the  thought.    To  leave  my 
aged  parents,  brothers,  sisters  and  friends,  and 
travel  with  savages,  through  a  dismal  forest  to 
unknown  regions,  in  the  alarming  situation  I 
then  was  in,  with  three  small  children,  the  eld- 
est, Sylvanus,  who  was  but  six  years  old. — 
My  eldest  daughter,  Susanna,  was  four,  and 
Polly,  the  other,  two.    My  sister  Miriam  was 
fourteen.      My  husband  was  barefoot,    and 
otherwise  thinly  clothed ;  his  master  had    ta- 
ken his  jacket,  and  nothing  but  his  shirt  and 
trowsers  remained.     My  two  daughters  had 
nothing  but  their  shifts,  and  I  only  the  gown 
that  was  handed  me  by  the  savages.    In  addi- 
tion to  the  suflFerings  which  arose  from  my  own 
deplorable  condition,  I  could  not  but  feel  for 
my  friend  Labarree ;    he  had  left  a  wife  and 
four  small  children  behind,  to  lament  his  loss, 
and  to  render  his  situation  extrqpiely  unhappy. 

C3 


M 


MMiMIMMMf 


30 


With  all  these  misfortunes  lying  heavily  ui.o:, 
ine,  the  reader  can  imagine  mv  situation.  The 
Indians     pronounced     tl\e  'dreadful     word 
*'  munch,"  march,  and  on  we  must  go.     I  was 
put  on  the  horse,  Mr.  Johnson  took  one  daugh- 
ter,  and  Mr.  Lubarree,    being  unbound,  took 
the  other  ;—we  went  six  or  eight  miles  and 
stopped  for  the  night.     The  men  were  made 
secure,  by  having  their  legs  put  in  split  sticks, 
somewhat  like  stocks,  s.nd  tied  with  cords, 
which  were  tied  to  the  limbs  of  trees  too  high 
to  be  reached.     My  sister,  much  to  her  mor- 
tihcation,  must  lie  between  two  Indians,  with  a 
cord  thrown  over  her,  and  passing  under  each 
of  them ;  the  little  children  had  blankets,  and  I 
^vas  allowed  one  for  my  use.     Thus  we  took 
lodging  for  the  night,  with  the  sky  for  a  cov- 
cring,  and  the  ground  tor  a  pillow.     The  fa- 
tigues  of  the  preceding  day  obliged  me  to  sleep 
several  hours,  in  spite  of  the  horrors  which  sur- 
rounded me.     The  Indians  observed  great  si- 
lence, and  never  spoke  but  when  really  neces. 
sary,  and  all  the  prisoners  were  disposed  to  say 
but  little  ;  my  children  were  much  more  peace, 
able  than  could  be  imagined^gloomy  fear  itn. 
posed  a  deadly  silence. 


H'lstot 

till: 
Che 

IN 

rise,  t 

stolen 

for  br 

gre  fa 

luisba 

fellow 

marcl 

when 

tiplie< 

oFch 

that  \ 

gotth 

king 

ate  r( 

press! 

the  al 

wildc 

one  c 

ed  w 

conv( 

child 

were 

band 

ers  c 


'"Mltifit  I 


''t''**^-^*'*Jyjea^feSK^!Ki»Lwijv'WIIBBI»'-*.ijd'iJ 


-UM!ijjii!ftig"iiit»i;^aii^.jijuij;r;u,j.iii'j  ' 


:    ,   'Will 


\ 


31 


avily  uijo:i 
ition.  The 
Iful  word 
JO,  I  u'as 
)rie  daugli- 
)und,  took 
miles  and 
ere  made 
)lit  sticks, 
iih  cords, 
s  too  high 

her  mor- 
ins,  with  a 
nder  each 
ictSy  and  I 
s  we  took 
3r  a  cov- 

The  fa- 
e  to  sleep 
rhich  sur> 
1  great  si- 
lly neces- 
>ed  to  say 
re  peace. 

fear  im- 


CHAP.  11. 

History  of  our  Journey  through  the  Wilderness, 
till  toe  came  to  the  waters  that  enter  Lake  - 
Champlain, 

IN  the  morning  we  were  roused  before  sun- 
rise, the  Indians  struck  up  a  fire,  hung  on  their 
stolen  kettles,  and  made  us  some  water  gruel 
for  breakfast.     After  a  few  sips  of  this   mea- 
gre fare,  I  was  again  put  oti  the  horse,  with  my 
husband  by  my  side,  to  hold  me  on.     My  two 
fellow  prisoners  took  the  little  girls,  and  we 
marched  sorrowfully  on  for  an  hour  or  two, 
when  a  keener  distress  was  added  to  my  mul- 
tiplied afflictions ;— I  was  taken  with  the  pangs 
oF  child-birth.     The  Indians  signified  to  us 
that  we  must  go  on  to  a  brook.     When  we 
got  there,  they  shewed  some  humanity,  by  ma- 
king a  booth  for  me.     Ht- re  the  compassion- 
ate reader  will  drop  a  fresh  tear,  for  roy  inex- 
pressible distress  ;  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from 
the  abode  of  any  civilized  being,  in  the  open 
wilderness,  rendered  cold  by  a  rainy  doy— in 
one  of  the  most  perilous  hours,  and  unsuppli- 
ed  with  the  least  necessarj',  that  could  yield 
convenience  in  the  hazardous  moment.     My 
children  were  crying  at  a  distance,  where  they 
were  held  by  their  masters,  and  only  my  hus- 
band and  sister  to  attend  me :  none  but  moth- 
ers can  figure  to  themselves  my  unhappy  fbr- 


€ 


i 

% 


miHiwiiaK 


^,a**."(P  ■ifM*^!*^,! 


\ 


32 

tunc.  The  Indians  kt  pt  aloof  the  whole  time. 
About  ten  o'clock  a  daughter  was  born.*  'i  hey 
then  brought  me  some  articles  of  clothirg  for 
the  child,  which  they  had  taken  from  the 
house.  My  master  looked  into  the  booth,  and 
clapped  his  hands  with  joy,  crying  two  monies 
for  me,  two  monies  for  me,  I  was  permitted 
to  rest  the  remainder  of  the  day.  The  Indians 
were  employed  in  making  a  bier  for  the  pris- 
oners to  carry  me  on,  and  another  booth  for 
my  lodging  during  night*     They  brought  a 

•  In  September,  \797, 1  made  a  tour,  accompanied  by 
Elijah  Grout,  Esq.  and  my  daughter,  E.  C.  Kimball,  to 
Weatheraficld,  to  find  the  spot  of  ground  when   m 
daughter  was  born ;  but  could  not  find  it  to  my  satisfac- 
tion at  that  time.    In  AuguM,  1798, 1  again  set  olT  for 
the  same  purpose,  accompanied  by  my  daughter  afore- 
said,  and  was  joined  by  Nathaniel  Stoton,  Esq  and  Mrs. 
Whippier  of  N^eathei'sfield.     In  this  toui  we  passed  two 
small  streams,  and  on  coming  to  the  third  I  was  cunvin* 
ced  it  must  be  up  that  stream  some  small  distance.    I 
requested  a  halt ;  and  on  riewing  a  cliiT  of  rocks,  I  in- 
formed my  company  that  we  were  not  far  from  the  place. 
The  reader  may  well  supp<fse  that  I  was  not  a  little  o* 
verjoyed  at  the  ejtpectation  of  viewing  the  place  where  I 
had  undergone  so  much  sorrow.    The  keenest  anguish 
of  soul,  the  providential  deliverance,  and  Aie  almost  mira- 
culous preservation!,  has  ever  rendered  the  recollection  of 
that  spot  dear  to  me,  and  it  can  only  be  forgotten  with 
my  existence.    We  pursued  up  ths  stream  a  little  tat- 
ther,  and  on  viewing  the  rocks  aforesaid,  I  knew  them  to 
be  the  same  which  were  spoken  of  by  my  husband  and 
others  on  the  morning  of  our  departure  on  our  journey 
with  the  Indiaos,  which  rock,  they  said,  would  remain 
as  a  monument,  that  should  any  of  us  ever  be  so  happy 
n  to  return,  wc  might  find  the  place  |  although  at  that 


needle 
child'! 
a  larg( 
they  r 
to  ste< 
provic 
the  m 
porii(3 
tion  V 
that  n 
In 

time,  ii 

dOVlTCI 

me  in 
1  re  col 
ing  the 
ilicdtiv 
t:om  t 
s'reani 
which 

being 

I  mig! 

monui 

ar.com 

J.abar 

i«ore 

arrive( 

groutK 

was  0 

and  is 

Wsat! 

ment 

readei 

••Tl 

afler  l! 


.*5i<?;*ife,^fei^f^i!«5«i(i»7 


vhole  time, 
irn.*  'ihey 
jlothirg  for 

from  the 
booth,  and 
:wo  monies 

permitted 
'he  Indians 

the  pris- 

booth  for 
brought  a 

ompanied  by 

Kimball,  to 
I  where  m 
my  satisrac* 
n  set  off  Tor 
gliter  arore* 
iq  and  Mrs. 
e  passed  (wo 

was  cunvin* 
liistance.    I 

rocks,  I  in- 
m  the  place. 
>t  a  little  o* 
lace  where  I 
lest  aDguish 
ilmost  mira- 
mllection  of 
rgotten  with 

a  little  tat- 
i«w  them  to 
usband  and 
our  journey 
uld  remain 
>e  so  liappy 
ugh  at  that 


33 

needle  and  two  pins,  and  some  bark  to  tie  the 
child's  clothes,  which  they  gave  my  sister,  and 
a  large  wooden  spoon  to  feed  it  with  ;  at  dusk 
they  made  some  porridge,  and  brought  a  cup 
to  steep  some  roots  in,  which  Mr.  Labarree  had 
provided.  In  the  evening  I  was  removed  to 
the  new  booth.  For  supper,  they  made  more 
porridge  and  some  johnny  cakes.  Mf  por- 
tion  was  brought  me  in  a  little  bark.  1  slept 
that  night  far  beyond  expectation. 

In  the  morning  we  were  summoned  for  the 

time,  it  was  nothinR  but  a  wilderness.     We  also  dis- 
erovircd  a  small  hof;  meadow  where  the  horse  mired  with 
me  in  the  morning  prior  to  the  Wrth  of  my  child.     And 
1  recollected  that  it  was  nigh  the  brook,  or  when  cross- 
ing  the  st-eem,  that  I  felt  the  first  pangs  which  were  m- 
dicative  of  the  sorrowful  scene  that  soon  followed.     And 
from  the  rocks  before  mentioned,  the  bog  meadows,  the 
arream,  and  a  dry  spot  of  ground  res'^mbling  the  one  on 
which  the  savages  built  my  booth,  cicumntanren  ihnt  could 
7ict  nvcll  be  forgotun,  1  was  very  well  satisfi-d  as  to  its 
being  the  place  for  which  I  had  sought.     However,  that 
I  might  be  still  more  certain,  (as  I  purposed  to  havea 
monument  erected  on  the  spot,)  in  1799  I  again  set  out, 
arcompanied    by   my  fiiend   and  fellow  prisoner,  Mr. 
I.abarree,  and  took  a  further  view,  to    ascertam  with 
iiiore  precision  the  memorable  place.      When   we  had 
arrived,  wo  were  both  agreed  as  to  the  identiral  spot  of 
ground,  even  within  a  few  feet ;  and  ascertained  that  it 
was  on  the  northeast  corner  lot  of  land  in  Cavendish  j 
and  is  about  half  a  mile  from  the  main  road  leading  from 
Waathersfiild  to   Reading,  where   is   erected  a  monu- 
ment  with  the  following  inscription — which  the  friendly 
reader  may  peruse  if  be  should  ever  pass  that  way : 

••This  is  near  the  spot  where  the  Indians  encamped tT»e  night 
afler  ihcy  took  Mr.  Johnson  and  fnmily,  Mr.  Labarree  an* 


1 


f 


I 


I 


Jg|gj;ffirtL»|B«i». 


■iaaaiiiiwH* 


34 

journey,  after  the  ufual  breakfast,  of  meal  and 
water.  I  with  my  infant  in  my  arms,  was  laid 
on  the  litter,  which  was  supported  alternately 

by  Mr.  Johnson,  Labaree  and  Farnsworth. 

My  sister  and  son  were  put  upon  Scoggin,  and 
the  two  little  girls  rode.on  their  master'b  backs. 
Thus  we  proceeded  two  miles,  when  my  carri. 

ers  grew  too  faint  to  proceed  any  further 

This  being  observed  by  our  sable  masters,  a 
jjcneral  halt  was  called,  and  they  embodied 
tttemsclves  for  council.     My  master  soon  made 

nrnjworth,  August  30,  1754)  and  Mrs.  Johuoa  WMdtUrcr 
«u  01  her  child  half  •  mile  up  ihit  brook. 

•<  Whm  trouble'!  near  the  Lord  ii  kind» 

He  hcara  the  captivc'i  cry  ; 
He  can  aubdue  the  aavnge  mind. 

And  learn  it  aympaiky." 

Another  monument  is  erected  oi>  the  spot  of  ground 
where  the  child  was  born,  with  this  inscription  «•- 

"On  the  3lat  of  August.  A.  D,  1754,  Capt.  James  Johnson 
had  a  daughter  born  on  tliis  spot  of  ground  (  being  capiiratcd 
with  his  whole  family  by  the  Indiaus' 

"  If  mothers  e'er  should  wander  here, 

They'll  drop  a  sympathetic  tear 

For  her,  who  in  the  howling  wild. 

Was  safe  deliver'd  of  a  child" 

In  June,  1808,  I,  for  the  last  time  visited  the  place 
where  almost  fifty^four  years  before,  I  had  experienced 
the  keenest  sorrow  that  perhaps  was  ever  equalled  by 
any  woman.  I  was  accompanied  by  Col.  Kimball  and 
my  daughter,  £.  Captive,  his  wife,  to  Weathersfield  ; 
and  there  we  were  joined  by  Capt-  Sherwin  and  his  wife, 
It  Mr.  Demell  Grout.  (This  Mr.  Demell  Grout  was  a  son 
of  Mrs.  Grout  who  was  in  captivity  at  the  same  time 
.^at  I  was }  and  bis  given  name  was  to  ktep  io  renieia< 


signs  to 
horse  I 
left  btl 
in  his  c 
the  fcai 
an  attei 
perish  i 
the  infs 
deprivt 
conditi 
to  evei 

brancn  t 

er  from 

her.) 

were  in 

the  set  I 

It  was  I 

was  tun 

richly  r 

then  a 

est  {  M 

and  he 

plenty. 

the  stri 

bility,  ^ 

ourselv 

fountaii 

and  sot 

fare  wt 

a  large 

had  thi 

parison 

too  gr< 

are  mc 

they  ci 

•ace  a 


-:4as^^^j5^##^li^«s«y»;-*^^|g»';g»j:!aa<i^ 


meal  and 
),  was  laid 
Btternately 
isworth.  — 
oggin,  and 
er'tt  backa. 
I  my  carri. 
farther.— 
masters,  a 
embodied 
soon  made 

a  wu  dtlircr 


t  or  ground 
n  ta- 
me* Johnson 
ig  capiiratcd 


I  the  place 
!xpcrienced 
iqualled  by 
imball  and 
ithersfield  i 
nd  his  wifei 
It  was  a  son 
same  time 
ioremem- 


55 

signs  to  Mr.  Johnson  that  if  I  could  ride  on  the 
horse  I  might  proceed,   otherwise  I  must  be 
left  behind.     Here  1  observed  marks  of  pity 
in  his  countenance,  but  this  might  arise  from 
the  fear  of  losing  his  two  monies.     I  preferred 
an  attempt  to  ride  on  the  horse,  rather  than  to 
perish  miserably  alone.     Mr.   Labarree  todk 
the  infant,  and  every  step  of  tht-  horse  almost 
deprived  me  of  life.     My  weak  and  helpless 
condition  rendered  me,  in  a  degree,  insensible 
to  every  thing  ;  my  poor  child  could  have  no 

brancvthe  nameof  the  gentleman  whobouglithis  moth- 
er Trom  the  Indians,  and  was  ever  lind  and  friendly  to 
her.)      When  we  arrived  at  li»e  brook,  my  thoughts 
were  instantly   back  at  the  time  I  tiist   saw  it,  though 
the  scene  was  widely  diiferent  from  what  it  then  waa. 
It  was  then  a   dreury   wilderness ;    now   the  wilderness  ' 
was  turned  into  fruitful  fields,  dressed  in  verdure,  which 
richly  repaid  the  labors  of  tht  husbandman.      It  was 
then  a  dwelling  for  savages  and  wild  beasts  of  the  for- 
est  i  now  a  habitation  of  good  citizens,  wilh  their  flocks 
and  herds,  who  live  in  domestic  peace,  happiness  and 
plenty.    After  viewing  the  scene,  and  contemplating  on 
the  striking  contrast  a  few  momentt,  to  add  to  the  sensi* 
bility,  we  sat  down  and  partook  of  a  repast,  and  regaled 
ourselves  with  liquor   mixt  d  with  wat«r  fi«m  the  same 
fountain  that  I  k  my  chi.'d  first  partook  of  in  that  gloomy 
and  sorrowful  day  of  trouble  and  eAliction.     Then  my 
fiire  was  nteagre  meal  and  water,  ar.d  steeped  roots,  and 
a  large  wooden  afioon  to  feed  my  infant   babe  ;    now  we 
had  the  best  of  liquid  spirits,  and  eatables,  which  in  com- 
parison, might  be  said  to  be  dainties.    The  contrast  is 
too  great  for  pen  to  describe.     My  female  readers,  who 
are  mothers,  may  in  some  degree  conceive  of  it,  though 
they  cannot  realise  it  like  her  to  wlioro  it  is  by  experi' 
•aceaptrikiog  reality. 


^if 


p 


» 


36 

sustenance  Irom  my  breast,  and  was  supported 
entirily  by  water  gracl.     My  other  little  chil- 
dren, rendered  peevish  by  an  uneasy  mode  of 
riding,  often  burst  into  cries,  but  a  surly  check 
from  their  masters  soon  silenced  tliem.     VYc 
proceeded  on  with  a  slow,  mournful  pace. — 
My  weakness  was  too  severe  to  allow  me  to  sit 
on  the  horse  long  at  a  time ;  every  hour  I  was 
taken  oflF,  and  laid  on  the  ground  to  rest.     This 
preserved  my  life  during  the   third  day.     At 
niglu  we  found  ourselves  at  the  head  of  Black 
lliver  Pond.     Here  we  prepared  to  spend  the 
Tiight,  our  supper  consisted  of  gruel  and  the 
broth  of  a  hawk,  they  had  killed  tl>e  preceding 
day.     I'he  prisoners  were  secured,  as  usual,  a 
booth  was  made  for  me,  and  all  went  to  rest. 
After  encampment,  we  entered  into  a  short  con- 
versation.   My  sister  observed  that  if  I  could 
have  been  left  behind,  our  trouble  would  have 
been  seemingly  nothing.     My  husband  hoped 
by  the  assistance  of  providence,  we  should  all  be 
preserved.     Mr.  Labarrcc:  pitied  his  poor  fam- 
ily—and Farnsworth  summed  the  whole  of  his 
wishes,  by  saying,  that  if  he  could  have  got  a 
layer  of  pork  from  the  cellar,  we  should  not  be 
in  fear  of  starvation.     The  night  was  uncom- 
monly dark,  and  passed  tediously  oflF. 

In  the  morning,  half  chilled  with  a  cold  fog, 
we  were  ordered  from  our  places  of  rest,  offer, 
ed  the  lean  Aire  of  meal  Ec  water,  and  then  pre- 
pared for  the  journejr  ;  every  thing  resembled  a 


inneru 
their  (1 
down 
tion  to 
try,  so 
rising 
passag 
kept  t 
life, 
scene 
or  €hr( 
game 
the  las 
gan  to 
all  its 
At  nij 
Lake 
of  lam 
by  th< 
in  hoi 
plan  t 
shot, 
ingon 
satiat< 
term  i 
repaj 
offerii 
horse, 
cure  < 
in  tha 
neatm 
sauce 


57 


supported 
ittlc  chii- 

mode  of 
jrly  check 
:m,  VYc 
I  pace. — 
r  me  to  sit 
our  I  was 
St.  This 
day.     At 

of  Black 
•pend  the 

and  the 
)rcceding 
i  usual,  a 
It  to  rest, 
ihort  con. 
if  I  could 
uld  have 
nd  hoped 
luldallbe 
»oor  fam- 
ole  of  his 
ve  got  a 
Id  not  be 

uncom- 

cold  fog, 
st,  offer, 
then  pre- 
embled  a 


fcneral  procession.  The  sava^jes  preserved 
their  gloomy  sadness — the  prisoners,  bowed 
down  with  grief  and  fatigue,  felt  little  disposi- 
tion to  talk  ;  and  the  unevenness  of  the  coun- 
try, sometimes  lying  in  miry  plains,  at  others 
rising  into  steep  and  broken  hills,  rendered  our 
passage  hazardous  and  painful.  Mr.  Labarrec 
kept  the  iiAnt  in  his  arms,  «ik1  preserved  its 
life.  Thetlfth  day's  journey  was  an  unvaried 
scene  of  fatigue.  The  Indians  sent  out  two 
or  three  hunting  paries,  who  returned  without 
game  As  we  had  in  the  mornmg  consumed 
the  last  morsel  of  our  meal,  every  one  now  be- 
gan to  be  seriously  alarmed  ;  and  hunger,  with 
all  its  horrors,  looked  us  earnestly  in  the  face. 
At  night,  we  found  the  waters  that  run  into 
Lake  Champlain,  which  was  over  the  height 
of  land ;  before  dark  we  halted,  and  the  Indians, 
by  the  help  of  their  punk,  which  they  carried 
in  horns,  made  a  fire.  They  soon  adopted  a 
plan  to  relieve  their  hunger.  The  horse  was 
shot,  and  his  flesh  was  in  a  few  moments  broil- 
ing on  embers,  and  they,  with  native  gluttony, 
satiated  their  craving  appetites.  To  use  the 
term  politeness,  in  the  management  of  their 
repa  J,  may  be  thought  a  burlesque,  yet  their 
offering  the  prisoners  the  best  parts  of  the 
horse,  certainly  bordered  on  civility  ;  ar,  epi  • 
cure  could  not  have  cartered  nicer  sHces,  nor 
in  that  situation  served  them  up  with  more 
neatness.  Appetite  is  said  to  be  the  best 
sauce,  yet  our  abundance  of  it  did  not  render 

O 


savory  ibis  novtl  steak.  My  children,  howcv- 
-r,  eat  too  much,  which  made  them  very  un. 
well  for  a  number  of  days.  Broth  was  made 
ior  me  and  my  child,  which  was  rendeied  ai- 
most  a  luxury  by  the  seasoning  of  roots.  Af- 
ter  supper,  countenances  began  to  brighten ; 
those  who  had  relished  the  meal  exhibited  new 
strength,  and  those  who  had  only  snuffed  its 
effluvia,  confessed  themselves  redjaled  ;  the 
evening  was  employed  in  drying  and  smoking 
what  remained,  for  luture  use.  The  night 
'was  a  scene  of  distresf  mg  fears  to  me,  and  my 
extreme  weakness  had  affected  my  mind  to 
such  a  degree,  that,  every  difficulty  appeared 
doubly  terrible.  By  the  assistcnce  of  Scoggin, 
I  had  been  brought  so  far,  yet  so  great  was  my 
debility,  that  every  hour  I  was  taken  off  and 
laid  oil  the  ground,  to  keep  me  from  expiring. 
But  now,  alas !  this  convsyance  was  no  more. 
To  walk  was  impossible.  Inevitable  death, 
in  the  midst  of  woods,  one  hundred  miles  wide, 
appeared  my  only  portion. 


I,  howcv- 
very  un- 
vas  made 
deicd  ai- 
ds. Af. 
)righten ; 
ited  new 
ufTed  its 
;d  ;  the 
smoking 
lie  night 
,  and  my 
mind  to 
appeared 
Scoggin, 
was  my 
n  off  and 
expiring, 
no  more, 
:  death, 
ies  wide, 


3\> 


CHAP.  III.  i 

Cont'muation,  —till  cur  arrival  at  East  Bay, 
in  Lake  Champlain. 

IN  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day,  thclndians 
exerted  themselves  to  prepare  one  of  their  great- 
est dainties.     The  marrow  bones  of  old  Scog- 
gin were  pounded  for  a  soup,  and  every  root, 
botli  sweet  and  bitter,  that  the  woods  afforded, 
was  thrown  in  to  give  it  a  flavor.     Kach  one 
partook  of  as  much  as  his  feelings  would  allow.  ^ 
The  war-whoop  then  resounded,  with  an  m-  ' 
fernal  yell,  and  we  began  to  fiK  for  a  march. 
My  fate  was  unknown,  till  my  master  brought 
some  bark,  and  tied  my  petticoats,  as  high  as 
he  supposed  would  l^c  convenient  for  walking, 
and  ordered  me  to  "munch."    With  scarce- 
strength  to  stand  alone,  I  went  on  half  a  mile, 
with  my  little  son  and  three  Indians.     The  rest 
were  advanced.     My  power  to  move  then  llii!- 
ed,  the  world  grew  dark,  and  I  dropped  down. 
I  had  sight  enough  to  see  an  Indian  lift  hh 
hatchet  over  my  head,  while  my    little  son 
screamed,— •♦  Ma'am  do  go,  for  they  will  kill 
you."     As  I  fitinted,  my  last  thought  was,  that 
i  should  presently  be  in  the  world  of  spirits. 
When  I  awoke  my  master  was  talking  angrily, 
with  the  savage  who  had  threatened  my  lift. 
By  his  gestures  I  could  learn,  that  he  charged 


mmm 


40 

him  with  not  acting  the  honorable  part  of  a 
M'arrior,  by  an  attempt  to  destroy  the  prize  of  a 
brothtr.  A  whoop  was  given  fur  a  hah.  My 
tnaster  helped  rae  to  the  rest  of  the  company, 
where  a  council  was  held  s  the  result  of  which 
was,  that  my  husband  should  walk  by  my  side, 
;wd  help  me  along.  'I'hia  he  did  for  some 
hours,  but  faininess  then  overpowered  mc,  and 
Mr.  Johnson's  tenderness  and  solicitude,  was 
unequal  to  the  task  of  aiding  mc  further ;  ano- 
ther  council  was  held  :  —while  in  debate,  as  I 
lay  on  the  ground,  gasping  for  breath,  my  mas- 
ter sprang  towards  me,  with  his  hatchet.  My 
husband  and  fellow  prisoners  grew  pale  at  the 
sight,  suspecting  that  he  by  a  single  blow, 
ivould  rid  themselves  of  so  great  a  burthen  as 
I  was.  But  he  had  yet  too  much  esteem  for 
his  ♦'  two  monies."  His  object  was  to  get 
feark  from  a  tree,  to  make  a  pack-saddle,  for  my 
conveyance  on  the  back  of  my  husband. — He 
took  me  up,  and  we  marched  in  that  form  the 
rest  of  the  day,  Mr.  Labarrcc  still  kept  my 
infant,  Farnsworth  carried  one  of  the  little  girls, 
and  the  other  rode  with  her  master  ;  they  were 
extremely  sick  and  weak,  owing  to  the  large 
portion  of  the  horse,  which  they  oat ;  but  if 
they  uttered  a  murmuring  word,  a  menacing 
frown  from  the  savaejes,  soon  imposed  silence. 
None  of  the  Indians  were  disposed  to  shew  in- 
suits  of  any  nature,  except  the  youngest,  which 
I  have  before  mentioned.  He  often  delighted 
himself,  by  tormenting  my  sister,  by  pulling' 


'*-fcj»*a_ 


■"1    "'.  -Jtllt^X  !*■- 


■  !y,4.8' j^iyjaffltjAjjiiiiijiiiijijiiiijiiji-.  I .  L,,i  ij.i 


her  hai 

other  I 

and  tp 

wearil; 

their 

their 

was  bi 

than  I 

In 

stored 

physi( 

ness, 

days  I 

rcpeti 

but  il 

turn  > 

Nvhicl 

ter  w 

ihe  il 

pany, 

to  a  t 

nfO' 

wher 

wate 

10  sp 

and  I 

perci 

who 

sista 

the  I 

pare 

litOp 


part  of  a 

prize  of  a 
^alt.  My 
company, 
t  ofwhicli 
r  mv  side, 

for  some 
d  mc,  and 
itude,  \vas 
her;  ano- 
bate,  as  I 
I,  my  mas- 
het.  IVly 
pale  at  the 
jle  blow, 
)urthen  as 
:steem  for 
/as  to  get 
lie,  for  my 
and. — He 
t  form  the 

kept  my 
Utle  girls, 
they  were 

the  large 
It;  but  if 
menacing 
d  silence. 

shew  in- 
Dst,  which 
delighted 
y  pulling' 


f  1 


'i<il^ili*pHH>i-<- 


L 


41 

her  hair,  treading  on  her  gown,  and  numeyouJ 
other  bovish  pranks,  which  were  provokmg 
and  troublesome.  We  moved  on,  faaU  and 
wearily,  till  night;  the  Indians  then  yelkd 
their  war.whoop,  built  a  fire,  and  hung  over 
their  horse  broth.  After  supper,  my  booth 
was  built,  as  irtual,  and  I  reposed  much  belter 
than  I  had  the  preceding  nights. 

In  the  morning,  I  found  myself  greatly  re- 
stored.      Without  the  aid  of  physicians,  or 
physic,  nature  had  began  the  cure  of  that  weak- 
ness, to  which  she  had  reduced  me,  but  a  few 
days  before.     '1  he  reader  will  be  tired  of  the 
repetition  of  the  same  materials  for  our  meals  ; 
but  if  my  fcelincs  can  be  realized,  no  one  will 
turn  with  disgti'st  from  a  breakfast  of  steaks, 
Nvl-.ich  were  cut  from  the  thigh  of  a  horse-  Af- 
ter which,  Mr.  Johnson  was  ordered  to  take 
(he  infant,  and  go  forward  with  part  of  the  com- 
pany.    I  *'  munched"  in  the  rear  till  we  came 
to  a  beaver  pond,  which  was  formed  in  a  branch 
of  Otter  Creek.     Here  1  was  obliged  to  wade  ; 
when  half  way  over,  up  to  the  middle  in  cold 
water,  my  lit>je  strength  failed,  and  my  power 
to  speak  or  see  left  me.     While  motionless 
and  stiff  jned,  in  the  middle  of  the  pond,  I  was 
perceived  from  the  other  side,  by  Mr.  Johnson, 
who  laid  down  the  infant,  and  came  to  my  as« 
sistance  ;    he  took  me  in  his  arms,  and  when 
the  opposite  side  was  gained,  life  itself  had  ap- 
parently forsaken   mc.     The  whole  company 
;.topped,  and  ibe  Indians,  wi»h  moi'^  hunvmiK 


42 


than  I  supposed  them  possessed  of,  busied 
themselves  in  making  a  fire,  to  warm  me  into 
life.  The  warm  influence  of  the  fire  restored 
my  exhausted  strength,  by  degrees  ;  and  m 
two  hours  I  was  told  to  munch.  The  rest  of 
the  day  I  was  carried  by  my  husband. — In  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon,  we  arrived  on  the 
banks  of  one  of  the  great  branches  of  Otter 
Creek.  Here  we  halted,  and  two  savages, 
who  had  been  on  a  hunting  scout,  returned 
with  a  duck ;  a  fire  was  made,  which  was 
thrice  grateful  to  my  cdd  shivering  limbs.  Six 
days  had  now  almost  elapsed,  since  the  fatal 
morn,  in  ^vhiGb  we  were  taken,  and  by  the 
blessing  of  that  Providence,  whose  smiles  give 
life  to  creation,  we  were  still  in  existence. — 
My  wearied  husband,  naked  children,  and 
helpless  infant,  formed  a  scene  that  conveyed 
severer  pangs  to  my  heart,  than  all  the  suffer- 
ings I  endured  myself.  Tlie  Indians  were 
sullen  and  silent,  the  prisoners  were  swollen 
with  gloomy  grief,  and  I  was  half  the  time  ex- 
piring. After  my  feelings  were  a  little  quick- 
ened by  warmth,  my  sad  portion  was  brought 
in  a  bark,  consisting  of  the  duck's  head,  and  a 
gill  of  broth. '  As  I  lifted  the  unsavory  morsel 
with  a  trembling  hand,  to  my  mouth,  I  cast  my 
thoughts  back  a  few  days,  to  a  time  when, 
from  a  board  plentifully  spread,  in  my  own 
house,  I  eat  my  food  with  a  merry  heart.  The 
wooden  spoon  dropped  from  my  feeble  hand. 
Tke  contrast  was  too  aflfecting.    Seated  on  a 


I 


I 


ragget 

was  ; 

by  m 

were 

robbe 

confid 

save. 

the  St 

and  V 

er  wa 

Labai 

trippi 

thew 

thing 

ner  c 

gots 

built 

clotV 

H 

whi* 

to  a 

jour 

intl 

clea 

and 

was 

CO, 

wh< 
bee 
ken 
flou 
gre 


*^ii«».- 


'  :4^^^0i^'^"' 


-gy- 


f,  busied 
1  me  into 
;  restored 
;  and  in 
lie  rest  of 
. — In  the 
1  on  the 
of  Otter 
savages, 
returned 
hich  was 
nnbs.  Six 
the  fatal 
id  by  the 
niies  give 
itence. — 
ren,  and 
conveyed 
le  suffer, 
ms  were 
;  swolleiv 
time  ex- 
le  quick- 
i  brought 
ad,  and  a 
y  morsel 
( cast  my 
le  when, 
my  own 
art.  The 
ble  hand, 
ited  on  a 


s 


t 


Vi 


43 

ragged  rock,  beneath  a  hemlock,  as  I  then 
was  ;  emaciated  by  sickness,  ^jd  surrounded 
by  my  weeping  and  distressed  family,  who 
were  helpless  prisoners,  despair  would  have 
Tobbed  me  of  life,  had  1  not  put  n^Y  jvhole 
confidence  in  that  Being  who  has  po^  ^er  to 
save.  Our  masters  began  to  m^'^X^^ 
the  stream.     I  swallowed  most  oi  my  bro  h. 

^nd  was  taken  up  by  «»y  .^^"^5""^-  J,  Mr 
er  was  very  rapid,  and  passing  dangerous.  Mr. 
Labarree,  when  half  over  with  my  child,  was 
rr'pped  up  by  its  rapidity,  and  lost  the  babe  in 
thewater^  little  did^^I  expect  to  see  the  poor 
thing  again,  but  he  fortunately  ^^^^^ 
ner  of  its  blanket,  and  saved  its  life.  The  rest 
got  safe  to  the  other  shore-another  fire  was 
built,  and  my  sister  dried  the  infant,  and  its 

^    '^°Herc  we  found  a  proof  of  Indi«"/«f  ?»*yj 

U    which  might  justly  be  supposed  not  to  belong 

*t   to  a  band  of  rambling  barbarians.      In  their 

iournev  overtotheConnecticutRiver, they  had, 

iSirplace,  killed  a  bear.    The  entrails  were 

deS  and  fiHed  with  the  fat  of  the  anima^^ 

and  suspended  from  the  limb  of  a  tree;  by  it 

was  deposited  a  bag  of  flour  and  some  tobac- 

CO,  all  which  was  designed  for  future  st  ^res 

when  travelling  that  way.    Nothing  couldjiav^e 

been  offered  more  acceptable,  than  these  to- 

kens  of  Indian  economy  and   ptudence       Ihc 

flour  was  made  into  pudding,  a^d.^**^.  °^^ 

grease  sauce  was  not  unrelisbmg.    Brotn  w% 


1 


81 


iftaJe,  and  well  seasoned  with  snakcroot,  and 
those  who  were  fond  of  tobacco  had  each  theh- 
.share.     The  whole  formed  quite  a  sumptuous 
entertainment.   Bat  these  savage  dainties  made 
no  sensible  addition  to  cur  quota  of  happiness. 
My  weakness    increased,   my  children  were 
very  unwell,  and  Mr.  Johnson's  situation  was 
truly  distressing.     By  travelUng barefoot,  over 
such  a  length  of  forest,  and  siqjporting  me  on 
his  shoulders,  his  feet  were  rei.dercd  sore,  be- 
yond description.     I  cannot  express  too  much 
p  aiitudc,  for  Mr.  Labarrce's  goodness.     My 
inlant  was  his  sole  charge,  and  he  supported  it, 
by  pieces  of  the  horse  flesh,  which  he  kept  for 
its  use,  which  by  being  first  chewed  in  his  own 
mouth,  and  then  put  into  the  child's,  afforded 
it  the  necessary  nutriment.     After  supper,  my 
booth  was  made,  the  evening  yell  was  soundecV, 
and  we  encamped  for  the  night.     By  this  time 
the  savages  had  relaxed  purt  of  their  watchful', 
rcss,  and  brgau  to  be  careless  of  our  escaping, 
l-abarree  and  Farnrsworth  were  slightly  bound, 
and  my  husband  had  all  his  liberty,    'My  sis- 
ter  could  sleep  without  her  two  Indian   com- 
panions, and  the  whale  conj|xtny  appeared  less 
like  prisoners. 

In  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  wc  were 
roused  at  sunrise.  Although  the  early  part 
of  September  is  generally  Ijlcssed  wiih  a  se- 
renesky,  :uid  a  wnrm  sun,  yet  we  suffered  ex- 
ceedingly by  ihc  cokl.  The  morniugs  were 
c.l.'-,Tiu  ;r.yj  fo^v'jy,  and  the  lofiy  trees,    and  nu- 


jnerous 

noon. 

flour,  I 

sirengt 

came  t 

me  upi 

march. 

strikin 

little  S( 

ncy  or 

was  er 

he  laid 

atidm 

ride  fa 

irate  i 

begge 

could 

his  wi 

save  I 

contir 

mood 

distar 

itane 

who  1 

savag 

tor. 

and  a 

day's 

ment 

ble; 

thuni 

earth 


' ""-'"".',."" i"i&rj'  u  ^'iml'iiMBy- 


'W^-^. 


lot,  and 
ch  their 
iptuous 
cs  made 
ipincss. 
n  were 
ion  was 
ot,  over 
:  mcon 
ore,  bc- 

0  much 
3.  My 
srted  it, 
kept  for 
his  own 
t  Horded 
per,  my 
>undecV, 
lis  time 
atchful'. 
caping. 
bound, 
*ly  sis- 

1  corn- 
red  less 

c  were 
ly  poi't 
\\  a  se- 
red  cx- 
s  were 
nd   nu- 


aXii  i.'.i»ii.<i'i»Kijn>*wiiiiy'w 


4S 

mcrous  mountains,  often  exclude  the  sun  titt 
noon.     Our  snakcroot  broth,   enriched  with 
flour,  made  a  rare  breakfast,  and  gave  a  lilUe 
tiirencth  to  our  exhausted  limbs.      Orders 
came  to  "  munch."     My  poor  husband  took 
mc  upon  the  pack  saddle,  and  we  resumed  our 
march.     Long  before  night,  despondency  had 
strikingly  pictured  every   countenance.     My 
little  son,  who  had  performed  the  whole  jour- 
ncy  on  foot  was  almost  lifeless.     Mr.  Johnson 
was  emaciated,  and  almost  exhausted  ;- often 
he  laid  me  on  the  ground  to  save  his  own  lite, 
and  mine  ;  for  my  weakness  was  too  great  to 
ride  far,  without  requiring  rest.     While  pros- 
trate  upon  the  earth,  and  able  to  speak,  I  olten 
bcKged  him  to  leave  me  there  to  end  a  life,  which 
could  last  but  a  short  time,  and  would   take 
his  with  it,  if  he  continued  his    exertions  to 
save  me ;  but  the  idea  wa»  too  shocking,  we 
continued  our  journey,  in  a  slow  sorrowful 
mood,  till  nighr.     Often  did  I  measure  a  stn-all 
distance  for  the  sun  to  run,  before  1  must  bid 
it  an  eternal  adieu.     But  the  same  Providence 
who  had  brought  us  so  far,  and  inclined  our 
savage  masters  to  mercy,  continued  my  protec- 
tor.    Farnsworth  carried  me  a  small  distance, 
and  at  last  darkness  put  an  end  to  our  painful 
day's  jowrney^     After  the  customary  refresh, 
ment,  we  went  to  rest.     The  night  wasr  tern, 
ble  ;  the  first  part  was  Is  gyptian  darkness,  then 
thunder,  and  lightening,  and  rain.     On  the  cold 
earth,  without  a  cover,  our  situation  may  be 


f!R^ 


I 


46- 

imagined,  but  not  described.  The  Indians 
gave  me  an  additional  blanket  for  ray  use.  and 
shewed  some  concern  for  my  welfare  ;  but  it 
will  ever  stand  first  among  modem  miracles, 
that  my  life  was  spared. 

The  morning  came,  and  a  bright  sun  reanii 
mated  our  drowned  spirits.  1  he  whole  com- 
pany now  resembled  a  group  of  ghosts,  more 
than  bodily  forms.  Little  did  I  expect  that  the 
light  of  another  day  would  witness  my  exist- 
ence ;  sensible,  that  if  iny  own  sad  diseases 
did  not  finish  my  existence,  my  husband  would 
be  reduced  to  the  woful  alternative,  of  either 
perishing  with  mc,  or  li-avintj  me  in  the  woods 
to  preserve  his  own  life. — The  horrid  yell  was 
given,  which  was  a  si^nitl  for  preparation. 
Melancholy  sat  heavily  on  every  countenance, 
and  the  tear  of  woe  moistened  the  sickened 
cheek  of  every  prisoner.  In  addition  to  famine 
and  fatigue,  so  long  n  journey,  wiiliout  a  shoe 
for  defence,  had  lacerated  and  mangled  every 
foot,  to  a  shocking  degree  ;  travc  Ding  was 
keenly  painful.  The  scanty  breakfast  was 
served  up  ;  as  I  was  lifting  my  gill  of  broth  to 
my  cold  lips,  my  master,  with  a  rash  hand, 
pulled  it  from  mc,  and  gave  it  to  my  husband, 
observing  by  signs,  that  he  required  all  the 
sustenance,  to  enable  him  to  carry  mc.  I 
yielded,  on  the  supposition  that  it  was  a  matter 
of  little  consequence,  whether  any  thing  was 
bestowed  to  that  body  which  must  soon  mini 
gle  with  its  original  clay.     With  sorrow  and 


iinguish, 

Btlbrc  V 

tons,  th 

east  bay 

('ordial  i 

immedis 

idea  of 

translate 

guihhed 

marchec 

Indians 

were  to 

seasonal 

ry  poss 

with  grc 

thought 

die  of  t 

were  se< 

soon  gai 

Indians, 

rel ;   a 

prepara 

been  ex 

low  ^)ri! 

for  a  sh 

influenc 

suftcriii 

last  moi 

existeni 

Sliore  o 

I  ever 

passitg 


flkr 


Indians 
use,  and 
:  but  it 
niracles, 

n  reani. 
)!e  com- 
Is,  more 
that  the 
r  exist- 
iliscases 
d  would 
f  cither 
;  woods 
^cll  was 
aration. 
cnuiice, 
ickencd 
)  famine 
t  a  shoe 
:1  every 
iig  was 
ist  was 
)roth  to 
h  hand, 
usband, 

all  the 
mc.      I 

matter 
ng  was 
m  min^ 
3W  and 


iinguish,  we  began  the  ninth  day  s  journey. 
Btlbre  wc  proceeded  far,  the  Indians  signihed 
to  us,  that  we  should  arrive,  before  night,  at 
cast  bay,  on  Lake   Champlain.     'J  his  was  a 
cordial  to  our  drooping  spirits,  and  c  lused  an 
immediate  transition  from  despair  to  joy  ;  the 
idea  of  arriving  at  a  place  of  water  carriage, 
translated  us  to  new   life.      Those  who  Ian- 
guished  with  sickness,  latigue  or  dtspair,  now 
marched  forward  with  nervous  alacrity.     Two 
Indians  were  sent  on   a  hunting  scout,  ^yho 
were  to  meet  us  at  the  Bay,  with  canoes.     This 
seasonable  and  agreeable  intelligt  nee,  had  eve- 
ry possible  effect  that  was  good  ;  we  walked 
with  greater  speed,  ftlt  less  of  the  journey,  and 
thought  little  of  our  distress.     About  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon  the  waters  of  the  Lake 
were  seen,  from  a  neighboring  eminence  ;  we 
soon  gained  the  bank,  where  we  found  the  twD 
Indians,  with  four  canoes,  and  a  ground  squir- 
rel ;    a  fire  was  built,   and  some  food  put  hi 
preparation.     Here  my  feelings,  which  hud  not 
been  exhilarated  so  much  as  die  rest  of  my  fel- 
low prisoners,  were  buoyed  above  despair,  and, 
for  a  short  time,  the  pangs  of  distress  lost  their 
influence.     The  life,  whicli  nine  days  painful 
suffering  in  the   wilderness,  bad  brought  to  its 
last  moment  of  duration,  now  started  into  new 
existence,  and  rendered  the  hour  I  sat  on  the 
^lore  of  Luke  Champlain,  one  of  the  happiest 
I  ever  experienced.      Here  we  were  to  take 
passy^^  in  boats,   and  ftnd  relief  from  tlic 


Wt 


dfiSSMM 


*8 

thorny  hills  and  miry  swamps  of  the  (lam\»  de-  • 
san.      Mv  husband  could    now   be  rtlicved 
from  the  hnrdtn,  which  had  bro'thim  as  nigh 
tu  .  uity   as  inysell.     My  little  children  would 
soon  find  clothing,  and  all  my  fellow  sufflrcrs 
would  be  in  a  condition  to  attain  some  of  lift's 
conveniences.      Twelve  hours  sailinpr  would 
waft  us  »o  the  settlements  of  civilized  French- 
in<n.     Considering  how  much  we  had  endur- 
ed, few  will  deem  it  less  than  a  miracle,  that 
we  were  still  among  the  living.      My  son,  of 
six  >  ears  old,  had  walked  barefoot  the  whole 
journey.     Farnsworth  wus  shoeless,  and  car- 
rit'd  my  eldest  daughter.     Labarree  had  to  car- 
ry and  preserve  the  life  of  my  infant.     My  sis- 
ter,  owing  to  her  youth  and  healtli,  had  suffer- 
ed the  least.     My   two   little  daughters,  with 
only  their  shifts,  and  part  of  one  of  the  three 
gowns,  which  the  savage  gave  me,  were  sub- 
ject to  all  the  damps  of  morn  and  night ;  and 
Mr.  Johnson's  situation  was  pitiably   painful ; 
the-fatigue  of  carrying  me  on  the  wearying 
pack  saddle,  had  rendered  his  emaciated  body 
«lmost  a  corpse,  and  his  sore  leet  made  him  a 
cripple.     The  Indians  had   been  sutprisingly 
patient,  and  of'en  discovered  tokens  of  human- 
fty.     At  every  meal  we  all  shared  equal  with 
them,  whether  a  horse  or  a  duck  composed  the 
bill  of  fare,  and  more  than  once  they  gave  me  a 
blanket,  to  shelter  me  from  a  thunder  storm- 


Crossing 
to  St 
I'isV 

I 

momen 
•leg  of  a 
take  a 
eross  I 
him  a  I 
was  OIK 
divided 
In  my  I 
and  itil 
bottom 
me  to  1 
die.  i 
rock,  ( 
"we  stc 
went  ti 

got  SOI 

thougl 
yet,  b 
steak, 
and  ro 
Her 
loud  t 
in  a 
were  i 


4» 


relieved 

as  nigh 
n  would 
svfflrtrs 
of  life's 
pr  would 

French- 
d  cndur- 
icle,  that 
y  son,  of 
lie  whole 
and  car- 
Lid  to  car- 

My  sis- 
jd  suffer- 
ers, with 
the  three 
vere  sub- 
ght ;  and 

painful ; 
wearying 
ited  body 
idc  him  a 
rprisingly 
if  human- 
qual  with 
posed  the 
jave  me  a 

storm* 


CHAP.  IV. 

Crossing  the  Lake  to  Crown  Point,  from  thence 
to  St.  Johns,  Chamblee,  and  to  St,  Fran- 
vis  yHiage, 

I  WILL  only  detain  the  reader  a  Tew 
moments  longer  in  this  place,  while  I  cat  the 
•leg  of  a  woodchuck,  and  then  request  him  to 
take  a  night's  sailing  in  the  canoe  with  me  a- 
cross  the    Lake.     Though  I  sincerely  wish 
him  a  better  passage  than  1  had.    No  sooner 
was  our  repast  finished,  than  the  party   were 
divided  into  four  equal  parties,  for  passage. 
In  my  boat  were  too  savages,  besides  my  son 
and  infant.     I  was  ordered  to  lie  flat  on  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe,  and  when  pain  obliged 
me  to  move  for  relief,  I  had  a  rap  from  a  pad- 
dle.    At  day   break,  we  arrived  at  a  great 
rock,  on  the  west  side  of  the  Lake,  where 
we  stopped  and  built  a  fire.      The  Indians 
went  to  a  French  house,  not  far  distant,  and 
got  some  meat,  bread,  and   green  corn.     Al- 
though  we  were  not  allowed  to  taste  the  mcat^ 
yet,  by   the  grateful  effluvia  of  the  broiling 
steak,  wc  were  finely  regaled,  and  the  bread 
and  roast  corn,  were  a  luxury. 

Here  the  savages,  for  the  first  time,  gave 
loud  tokens  of  joy,  by  hallooing  and  yelling 
in  a  tremendous  manner.  I'he  prisoners 
were  now  introduced  to  a  new  schook    Little 


if^m-^ 


MMB 


11 


90 


(Jid  we  expect  that  the  accomplishment  of 
dancinff  would  ever  be  taught  us,  by  the  sava- 
ges. But  -the  war  dance  must  now  be  held  ; 
and  every  prisoner  that  could  move  must  take 
its  awkward  steps.  The  figure  consisted  of 
circular  motion  round  the  fire  ;  each  sung  his 
own  music,  and  the  best  dancer  was  the  one 
most  violent  in  motion.  The  prisoners  were 
uught  each  a  song,  mine  was,  danna  witchec 
natehepung;  my  son's  was  nar  wiscumpton. 
The  rest  1  cannot  recollect.  Whether  this 
task  was  imposed  on  us  for  their  diversion,  or 
a  religious  ceremoniHl,  I  cannot  say,  but  k 
was  very  painful  ond  offeneivc.  In  the  fore- 
noon, seven  Indians  came  to  ua,  who  were  re- 
ceived with  great  joy  by  our  masters,  who 
took  great  pleasure  in  introducing  their  pris- 
oners. The  war  dance  was  again  held;  we 
were  obligfd  to  join,  and  sing  our  songs,  while 
the  Indians  rent  the  air  with  infernal  yelling. 
We  then  embarked  and  arrived  at  Crown 
Point  about  noon.  £ach  prisoner  was  then 
led  by  his  master  to  the  residence  of  the 
French  commander.  The  Indians  kept  up 
their  infernal  yelling  the  whole  time.  We 
were  onlcred  to  hi»  apartment,  and  used  with 
that  hospitulity  wliich  characterizes  the  bei»t 
part  of  the  n:\tion.  We  had  brandy  in  profu- 
sion, a  good  dinner,  and  a  change  of  linen. 
This  was  luxury  indeed,  after  wjiat  we  had- 
suiFered,  for  the  want  of  these  things.  None 
but  oursdven  could  prize  their  value.     We, 


after  d 

mande; 

which 

where 

jurisdi 

rcceiv< 

had  a 

my  CI 

all  dec 

lar. 

they  d 

1  rcfus 

side,  I 

such  a 

On 

moriif 

Indian 

we  all 

The 

dropp 

along 

who  ^ 

begge 

wrote 

of  ou 

same 

might 

delivc 

puUlii 

dings 

we  V 

Tl 


1 


Ml. 


^^sak^ 


51 


lent  of 
ic  sava- 
:hclc1  ; 
St  take 
stcd  of 
ung  his 
the  one 
s  were 
ivitchec 
mptun* 
er  this 
(ion,  or 

but  k 
e  fore- 
i^ere  re- 
's, who 
ir  pris- 
lid;  ^\e 
6»  while 
yelling. 

Crown 
as  then 

of  the 
:ept  up 
r.  We 
ed  with 
the  bekt 
\  profu- 
f  linen. 
we  had- 
None 


after  dinner,  were  paraded  before  Mr.  Com- 
mander, and  undenvent    examination,    after 
which  we  were  shewn  a  convenient  apartment, 
where  we  resided  four  days,  not  subject  to  the 
jurisdiction  of  our  savage  masters.     Here  we 
received  great  civilities,  and  many  presents,     f 
had  a  nurse,  who  in  a  great  measure  restored 
my  exhausted  strength.      My  children  were 
all  decently  clothed,  and  my  infiuu  in  particu- 
lar.    The  first  day,  while  I  was  taking  a  napi 
they  dressed  it  so  fantastically,  a  la  France,  that 
1  refused  to  own  it,  when  brought  tomv  bed- 
side, not  guessing  that  I  was  the  mother  of 
such  a  strange  thing. 

On  the  fourth  day,  to  our  great  grief  and 
moriiftcation,  we  were  again  delivered  to  the 
Indians,  who  led  US  to  the  water  side,  where 
wc  all  embarked  in  one  vessel  for  St.  Johns. 
The  wind  shifted,  after  a  short  sail,  and  wc 
dropped  anchor.     In  a  little  time  a  canoe  came 
along  side  of  us,  in  which  was  a  white  woman, 
who  was  bound  for  Albany.      Mr.  Johnson 
begged  her  to  stop  a  few  minutes,  while  he 
wrote  to  Col.  Lydius  of  Albany,  to  inform  him 
of  our  situation,  and  to  request  him  to  put  the 
same  in  the  Boston  newspapers,  that  our  friends 
mi|];ht  learn  that  wc  were  alive.     The  woman 
delivered  the   letter,  and  the  contents  were 
published,  which  conveyed  the  agreeable  ti- 
dings to  our  friends,  that  alttiough  prisoners, 
we  were  then  alive. 
The  following  letter,  in  return  for  the  one 


-iinifci  (1 


J^ 


i 


f 
I 


we  sent  to  Col.  Lydius,  was  the  first  we  receiv- 
!?d  from  New-England : 

■  J.    .  Albany,  nov.  5,  1754. 

SIR— I  received  yours  of  the  5ih  October, 
with  a  letter  or  two  for  New- England,  which 
I  have  forwarded  immediately,  and  have  wrote 
to  Boston,  in  which  I  urged  the  government 
to  endeavor  your  and  family's  redemption  as 
sooii  as  conycniency  would  admit. 

I  am  quite  sorry  for  your  doleful  misfor- 
tune, and  hope  the  just  God  will  endue  you 
with  patience  to  undergo  your  troubles,  and 
justly  use  his  rewards  on  the  evil  doers  and 
authors  of  your  misfortune. — Present  my  ser- 
vice to  all  the  prisoners  with  you,  fiom  him 
who  subscribes  himself  to  be  your  very  hum  • 

ble  servant^  ^.,,„ 

JOHN  W.  LYDIUS. 

Lieut.  James  Johnson,  Montreal. 

After  a  disagreeable  voyage  of  three  days, 
:  we  made  St.  Johns,  the  16th  ef  September, 
where  we  again  experienced  the  politeness  ot 
a  French  commander.  I  with  my  child,  was 
kindly  lodged  in  the  same  room  with  lumself 
and  lady.  In  the  morning  we  still  found  mis- 
fortune treading  close  at  our  heels ;— we  must 
again  be  delivered  to  our  savage  masters,  and 
take  another  passage  in  the  bouts  for  Cham- 
blee,  when  within  three  miles  of  which,  Lab- 
arree,  myself  and  child,  with  our  two  masters, 
were  put  ou  shore  ;  we  were  ignorant  of  our 


iife. 


53 


receiv- 

1754. 

)ctober, 
I,  which 
e  wrote 
ernment 
ption  as 

misfor- 
due  you 
)les,  and 
oers  and 
my  ser- 
om  him 
ry  hum- 

lUS. 


ee  days, 
ptember, 
eness  of 
luid,  was 
1  himself 
jnd  mis- 
•\ve  must 
iters,  and 
r  Cham- 
ch,  Lab- 
masters, 
It  of  our 


destiny,  and 'parting  from   my  husband  and 
friends,  was  a  severe  trial,  without  knowing 
whether  wc   were  ever  to^  meet  themagam. 
We  walked  on  to  Chamblce ;  here  our  fears 
were  dissipated,  by  meeting  our  friends.     In 
the  garriton  of  this  place,  we  found  all  the  hos- 
pitality our  necessities  required.    Here  for  the 
first,  after  my  captivity,  I  lodged  on  abed- 
Brandy  was  handed  about  in  large  bowls,  and 
we  lived  in  high  style.     The  next  mornmg 
we  were  put  in  the  custody  of  our  old  mas- 
ters, who  took  us  to  the  canoes,  in  which  we 
had  a  painful  voyage  that  day,  and  the  follow- 
ing night  to  Sorell,  where  we  arrived  on  the 
lyth.     A  hospitable  friar  came  to  the  shore  to 
sec  us,  and « invited  us  to  his  house ;    he  gave 
m  a  good   breakfastv  and   drank  our  bettet 
healths,  in  a  tumbler  of  brandy  ;  he  took  com- 
passionate notice  of  mv  child,  and  ordered  it 
some  suitable  food.    But  the  Indians  hurried 
us  off  before  it  could  eat.     He  then  went  with 
us  to  the  shore,  and  ordered  his  servant  to  car- 
ry the  food,  prepared  lor  the  child*-  to  the  ca- 
noe, where  he-  waited  till  I  fed  it.;     I  he  friar 
was  a  very  genteel  man,  and  gave  us  his  bene- 
diction, at  parting,  in  feeling  language*     We 
then  rowed  on  till  ihe  middle  of  the  attemoon, 
wheti  we  landed  on  a  barren^  heath,  and  by  the 
help  of  a  fire,  cooked  an  Indian  dinner ;  aftef 
which  the  war  dance  was  held,  and  another  in- 
fernal yelling.    The  prisoners  were  obliged  to 

£2 


'^ 


SSB 


I 


54 

sing,  till  they  were  hoarse,   and  dance  round 
the  fire. 

We  had  now  arrived  within  a  few  miles  of 
the  village  of  St.  Francis,  to  which  place  our 
masters  belonged.  W henever  the  warriors  re- 
return  from  an  excursion  against  an  enemy, 
their  return  to  the  tribe  or  village  must  be  de- 
signated by  warlike  ceremonial ;  the  captives 
or  spoil,  which  may  happen  to  crown  their  val- 
or, must  be  conducted  in  a  triumphant  form, 
and  decorated  to  every  pof"?ible  advantage. — 
For  this  end  we  must  now  sii  mit  to  paintiig ; 
their  vermillion,  with  w)  ■  '  l;  y  were  ever 
supplied,  was  mixed  with  us  a  grease,  and 
every  cheek,  chin  and  forehead  must  have  a 
dash.  We  then  rowed  on  within  a  mile  of  the 
town,  where  we  stopped  at  a  French  house,  to 
dine ;  the  prisoners  were  served  with  soup 
meagre  and  bread.  After  dinner,  two  savages 
proceeded  to  the  village,  to  carry  the  glad  li- 
dings  of  our  arrival.  The  whole  atmosphere 
soon  resounded  from  every  quarter,  with 
whoops,  yells,  shrieks  and  screams.  St.  Fran- 
cis, from  the  noise  that  came  fiom  it,  might 
be  supposed  the  centre  of  Pandemonium.  Our 
masters  were  not  backward,  they  made  every 
response  they  possibly  could.  The  whole 
time  we  were  sailing  from  the  French  house, 
ihe  noise  was  direful  to  be  heard.  Two  hours 
before  sunset,  we  came  to  the  landitig,  at  the 
village.  No  sooner  had  we  landed,  than  the 
yelling  in  the  town  was  redoubled  ;    a  cloud 


of  savaj 

ed  rum 

the  boa 

parade, 

we  mu 

prisone 

uing  thi 

gauntlc 

fore  wc 

pointec 

gave  u 

directl; 

to  his 

master 

large  b 

ed  me 

should 

new  hi 

wigwa 

tre,  an 

eat  fro 

cookei 

will  n< 

accust 


J 


-tiki--; 


e  round 

miles  of 
lace  our 
riors  re- 
cnemy, 
,t  be  de- 
captives 
heir  val- 
nt  form, 
itage* — 
aintiigi 
ere  ever 
ase,  and 
t  have  a 
le  of  the 
luuse,  to 
ith  soup 
savages 
:  glad  ti- 
losphere 
er,  with 
>t.  Fran- 
t,  might 
im.  Our 
de  every 
:  whole 
h  bouse, 
vo  hours 
g,  at  the 
than  the 
a  cloud 


55 

of  savages,  of  all  sizes  and  sexes,  soon  appear- 
ed running  towards  us ;    when  they  reached 
the  boats,  they  formed  themselves  into  a  long 
parade,  leaving  a  small  space,  through  which 
we  must  pass.      Each  Indian  then  took  his 
prisoner  by  his  hand,  and  after  ordering  him  to 
Ging  the  war  song,  began  to  march  thro'  the 
gauntlet;     We  expected  a  severe  beatmg,  be- 
fore  we  got  through,  but  were  agreeably  disap- 
pointed, when  we  found  that  each  Indian  only 
eave  us  a  tap  on  the  shoulder.     We  were  led 
directly  to  the  houses,  each  taking  his  prisoner 
to  his  own  wigwam.      When  I  entered  my 
master's  door,  his  brother  saluted  me  with  a 
large  belt  of  wampum,  and  my  master  present- 
ed me  with  another.     Both  were  put  overmy 
shoulders,  and  crossed  behind  and  b  el  ore.  My 
new  home  was  not  the  most  agreeable ;  a  la;ge 
wigwam  without  a  floor,  with  a  fire  in  thtf'cen- 
tre,  and  only  a  few  water  vessels  and  dishes,  to 
eat  from,  made  of  birch  bark,  and  tools  for 
cookery  made  clumsily  of  wood,  for  furniture, 
will  not  be  thought  a  pleasing  residence  to  one 
accustomed  to  civilized  life. 


'1: 


CHAP.  V. 

Residence  at  St,  Francis.  Sale  of  most  of^e 
Prisoners  to  the  French^  and  Removal  to 
Montreal, 

NIGHT  presently  came,  after  our  arrival 
at  St.  Francis*  Tliose  who  have  felt  the  gloo- 
my, homesick  feelings,  which  sadden  those 
hours  which  a  youth  pusses,  when  first  from  a 
father's  house,  may  judge  of  part  of  my  sul^r^ 
ings ;  but  when  the  rest  of  <  my  circumstances 
«rc  added,  (heir  conception  must  fall  infinitely 
short.  I.now  found  myself;  with  my  infant, 
in  a  large  wigwam,  .accompanied  with  two  or 
three  warriors,  and  as  many  squaws^  where  I' 
m\ist  spend  the  night,  and  perh.ips- a  year.— 
My.fellow prisoners  were  dispelled  over  the 
town ;  each  one,  probably,  fteling  the  same 
gloominess  with  myself.  Hasty  pudding  pres- 
ently vvite  brought  forward  for  supper,  A  spa- 
cious bowl  of  wood,  well  filled,  was  placed  in 
a  ceniral  spot,  ami  eaoli  one  drew  near  with  a 
wooden  spoon.  As  the  Indians  never  use  se&ts, 
nor  have  any  in  their  wigwams,  my  awkward- 
ness in  taking  n»y  position,  was  a  matter  of  no 
wnall  amusement  to  my  new  companions.— 
The  squaws  first  fall  upon  their  knees,  and 
then  sit  hack  upon  their  hi  els.-  This  was  a 
posture  that  I  could  not  imitate.  To  sit  in 
any  other  was  thought  by  them  indelicate  and 


impolite. 

the  best 

some  ol 

hour  for 

proper  t 

I  was  pc 

where  u 

was  to  I 

th'^msel 

ding,  in 

in  a  she 

the  moi 

licks  of 

me  in  tl 

in  obsei 

ing  son 

noon,  1 

parade, 

the  vill 

forwan 

was  sil 

attenti( 

was  so 

mcap 

was  h 

rence ' 

lie  sor 

parade 

side. 

mine  : 

masle 

attenc 


>st  ofAe 
moval  to 


r  arrival 
the  gloo* 
en  those 
3t  from  a 
\y  suffer* 
mstances 
infinitely 
y  infant* 
h  two  or 
where  I ' 
year.— 
over  the 
lie  same 
iing  prcs- 
Aspa- 
placed  in 
,r  with  a 
ise  se&ts, 
svkward- 
ter  of  no 
nions.— 
;es,  and 
s  was  a 
^o  sit  in 
cate  and 


*9f 

unpoUte..    But  1  advanced  to  my  pudding  with 
tlie  best  grace  I  coukl,  not,  however,  escapfng 
some  of  their  funny  remarks.     When    the 
hour  for  sleep  came  on,  for  it  would  be  im- 
proper to  call  it  bedtime,  where  beds  were  not, 
I  was  pointed  to  a  platform,  raistd  half  a  yard, 
where  upon  a  beard,  covered  with  a  blanket,  I 
was  to  pass  the  night.      The  Indians  threw 
themselves  down  in  various  parts  of  the  buil- 
ding, in  a  manner  that  more  resembled  cows, 
in  a  shed,  than  human  beings,  in  a  house,     in 
the  morning,  our  breakfast  consisted  of  the  re- 
licks  of  the  last  night  •,  ray  sister  came  to  see 
me  in  the  forenoon,  and  we  spent  some  hours, 
in  observations  upon  our  situation,  while  wash- 
ing  some  apparel,  at  a  brook.    In    the  after- 
noon,  I  with  my  infant,  was  taken  to  the  grand 
parade,  where  we  found  a  large  collection  ot 
the  village  inhabitants;  an  aged  chief  stepped 
forward,  intaanarea,  and  after  every   noise 
was  silenced,  and  every  one  fixed  m  profound 
attention,  he  began  to  harrangue  ;  his  manner 
was  solemn—his  motions  and  expressioiv  gave 
me  a  perfect  idea  of  an  orator.    Not  a  breath 
was  heard,  &  every  spectator  seemed  to  reve- 
rence what  he  said.     Afterthe  speech,  my  lit- 
tle son  was  brought  to  the  opposite  side  ot  the 
parade,  and  a  number  of  blankets  laid  by  ha 
side.     It  now  appeared  that  his  master    and 
mine  intended  an  exchange  of  prisoners.     My 
master  being  a  hunter,  wished  for  my  son,  to 
attend  him  on  his  excursions.    Each  deUverett 


58 


!\1  ^ 


11 


; 


property  with  great  formality  «  my  son  and 
Waokets,  being^an  equivalent  for  myself,  child 
and  wampum.  I;  was  taken  to  the  house  of 
my  new  master,and  found  myself  allied  to  the 
irst  family  ;.my  master,  whose  name  was  Gill, 
was  son- in. law  to  the  grand  sachem,  was  ac- 
counted rich,  had  a  store  of  goods,  and  lived  in 
a  style  far  above  the  majority  of  his  tribe. — 
He  often  told  me  that  he  had  an  English  heart, 
hut  his  wife  was  true  Indian  blood.  Soon  af- 
ter my  arrival'  at  his  house,  the  interpreter 
came  to  inform  me  that  1  was  adopted  into  his 
ftimily.  I  was  then  introduced  to  the  family, 
and  was  told  to  call  them  brothers  and  sisters, 
I  made  a  short  reply,  expressive  of  gratitude, 
for  being  introduced  to  a  house  of  high  rank, 
and  requested  their  patience  while  I  should 
learn  the  customs  of  the  nation.  This  was 
scarce  over  when  the  attention  of  the  village 
was  called  to  the  grand  parade,  to  attend  a  re- 
joicing occasioned  bv  the  arrival  of  some  war- 
riors,  who  had  brought  some  scalps.  They 
were  carried  in  triumph  on  a  pole.  Savage 
butchery,  upon  murdered  countrymen  !  The 
sight  was  horrid.  As  I  retired  to  my  new 
residence',  I  could  hear  the  savage  yells  that 
accompanied  the  war  dance.  I  spent  the  nighr 
in  sad  reflection. 

My  time  now  was  solitary  beyond  descrip- 
tion ;  my  new  sisters  and  brothers  treated  me 
with  the  same  attention  that  they  did  their  na- 
tural kmdred,  but  it  was  an  unnatural  situa. 


tion  toi 
bunks, 
cupuiio 
was  am 
oners  \ 
whethei 
inactive 
paign, 
dragge< 
hunting 
ly,  and 
ture  de! 
The 
since  n 
sible  ti 
events 
them  a 
memor 
accural 
Mr.  Jo 
before 
My  twi 
soon  af 
ent  tin 
master, 
so  nfetii 
wished 
I  now  1 
only  m 
withow 
former 
pointm 


•Mfc*lg|a-'.ljJj>  " 


■^"^^T 


my  son  and 
rscif,  child 
e  house  of 
lied  to  the 
e  was  Gill, 
],  was  ac> 
md  lived  in 
lis  tribe.  — 
;lish  heart, 
Soon  af- 
interpreter 
i6  into  his 
the  family, 
md  sisters, 

gratitude, 
kigh  rank, 
e  I  should 

This  was 
;he  village 
Itend  are* 
some  war- 
ps.  They 
.  Savage 
en  !  The 
►  my  new 

yells  that 
it  the  nighr 

id  descrip- 
Teated  me 
i  their  na- 
iral  situa* 


£9 


tion  to  me.  1  was  a  novice  at  making  cami^ 
bunks,  and  tumplines,  which  was  the  only  oc- 
cupation uf  the  squaws ;  of  course*  idleness 
was  among  my  calamities*  My  fellow  pris- 
oners were  as  gloomy  as  myself;  ignorant 
whether  they  wrere  to  spend  their  days  in  this 
inactive  village,  or  be  carried  into  a  war  cam- 
paign, to  slaughter  their  countrymen,  or  to  be 
dragged  to  the  cold  Lakes  of  the  north,  in  a 
hunting  voyage.  We  visited  each  other  dai- 
ly, and  spent  our  time  in  conjecturing  our  fu- 
ture destiny. 

The  space  of  forty-two  years  having  elapsed 
since  my  residence  in  St.  Francis,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  give  the  reader  a  minute  detail  of 
events  that  occurred  while  there ;  many  of 
them  are  still  forcibly  impressed  upon  my 
memory,  but  dates  and  particulars  are  now  in- 
accurately treasured  up  by  fahit  recollection. 
Mr.  Johnson  tarried  but  a  few  days  with  me 
before  he  was  ■carried  to  Montreal  to  be  sold. 
My  two  daughters,  sister  and  Labarree,  were 
soon  after  carried  to  the  same  place,  at  differ- 
ent times.  Farnsworth  was  carried  by  his 
master,  on  a  bunting  scout,  but  not  proving 
so  mbtive  in  the  chase  and  ambush  as  they 
wished,  he  was  returned  and  sent  to  Montreal. 
I  now  found  an  increase  to  my  trouble,  with 
only  my  son  and  infant,  in  this  storange  land, 
without  a  prospect  uf' relief,  and  with  all  m% 
former  trouble  lying  heavy  upon  roc.  dissap- 
pointmeiit  and  despair  catae  well  nigh  bein^ 


"'"'^mr 


JA 


I" 


*>l 


60 

wy  executioncrsi  In  this  dilemma,  who  car. 
imagine  my  distress,  when  my  little  son  came 
running  to  me  one  morning,  swollen  with 
tears,  exclaiming,  that  the  Indians  were  going 
to  carry  him  into  the  woods  to  hurt ;  he  had 
scarcely  told  the  piteous  storv,  before  his  mas- 
ter came,  to  pull  him  away  ;  he  threw  hislit- 
tle  arms  around  me,  begging  in  the  agony  of 
grief,  that  I  would  keep  him.  The  inexorable 
savage  unclenched  his  hands,  and  forced  him 
away  ;  the  last  words  I  heard,  intermingled 
with  his  cries,  were.  Ma'am  1  shall  never  see 
you  again.  The  keenness  of  my  pangs  al- 
most  obliged  me  to  wish  ihat  I  never  had  been 
a  mother.  Farewel,  Sylvanus,  said  I,  God 
will  preserve  you. 

It  was  now  the  15th  of  October.— Forty 
five  days  had  passed  since  my  captivity,  and 
no  prospect  but  what  was  darkened  with 
clouds  of  misfortune.  The  uneasiness  occa- 
sioned by  indolence,  was  in  some  measure  re- 
Iteved,  by  the  privilege  of  making  shirts  for 
my  brother.  At  night  and  morn  I  was  allow- 
ed to  milk  the  cows.  The  rest  of  the  time  I 
strolled  gloomily  about,  looking  sometimes 
into  an  unsociable  wigwam,  at  others  saunter- 
ing into  the  bushes,  and  walking  on  the  banks 
of  brooks.  Once  I  went  to  a  French  house, 
three  miles  distant,  to  visit  some  friends  of  my 
brother's  family,  where  I  was  entertained  pc 
litely  a  week  :  at  another  time,  I  went  with  a 
jparty  to  fisU,  acr;ompanied  by  a  number  oil 


sijua' 
often 
ion  c 
ment 
whic' 
gave, 
in  hat 
treatt 
cs  thi 
most 
carrii 
for  r< 
let  m 
time, 
claim 
they 
mc  V 
St. 
whicl 
Ther 
every 
theh 
tenda 
were 
in  th< 
souls 
the  Ic 
and  t 
mhab 
most 
were 
not  I 


•S*»t. 


M 


I,  xvho  cai. 
le  son  came 
rollen  with 
were  going 
t ;  he  had 
re  his  mas- 
rew  hislit- 
e  agony  of 
inexorable 
forced  him 
termingled 
I  never  sec 
pang«  al- 
jr  had  been 
lid  I,  God 

er. — ^Forty 
ptivity,  and 
ened  with 
iinebs  occa- 
neasure  re- 
g  shirts  for 
was  allow- 
f  the  time  I 
sometimes 
:rs  saunter- 
1  the  banks 
nch  house, 
ends  of  my 
rtained  po- 
ivent  with  a 
nutnber  of 


wjuaw^.  My  weakness  obliged  iwc  to  rest 
often,  which  gave  my  companions  a  poor  opin- 
ion of  me  ;  but  they  shewed  no  other  resent- 
ment than  calling  mc  "no  good  squaw," 
which  was  the  only  reproach  my  sister  ever 
gave,  when  I  displeased  her.  All  the  French 
inhiib  tants  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with, 
treated  mc  with  that  civility  which  distinguish- 
es the  nation  ;  once  in  particular,  being  al- 
most distracted  with  an  aching  tcioth,  1  was 
carried  to  a  French  physician,  across  the  river, 
for  relief,  i  hey  prevailed  on  the  Indians,  to 
let  mc  visit  them  a  day  or  two,  during  which 
time,  their  marked  attention  and  generosity 
claims  my  warmest  gratitude.  At  parting, 
they  expressed  their  earnest  wishes  to  have 
mc  visit  them  again. 

St.  Francis  contained  about  thirty  wigwams, 
which  were  thrown  disorderly  into  a  clump. 
There  was  a  church,  in  which  mass  was  held 
every  night  and  morning,  and  every  Sunday 
the  hearers  were  summoned  by  a  bell ;  and  at- 
tendance was  pretty  general.  Ceremonies 
were  performed  by  a  French  friar,  who  lived 
in  the  midst  of  them,  for  the  salvation  of  their 
souls.  He  appeared  to  be  m  that  place,  what 
the  legislative  branch  isirr  ci«  il  governments, 
and  the  grand  s^liiem  the  executive.  The 
inhabitants  lived  in  perfect  harmony,  holding 
most  of  their  property  in  common.  They 
were  proncto  indolence,  when  at  home,  and 
not  remarkable  for  neatness.     They  were  ex- 


t    ! 


m 


It! 


1 


Ml 


0^ 

treincly  modest,  and  apparently  averse  to  airs 
of  courtship.  Necessity  was  the  only  thing 
that  called  them  to  action  ;  this  induced  them 
to, plant  their  corn,  and  to  undergo  the  fatigues 
of  hunting.  Perhaps  I  am  wrong  to  call  ne- 
cessity the  only  motive  ;  revenge,  which 
prompts  them  to  war,  has  great  power.  I  had 
a  numerous  retinue  of  relations,  whom  I  vis- 
ited daily  ;  but  my  brother's  house,  being  one 
of  the  most  decent  in  the  village,  I  fared  full  as 
■well  at  home.  Among  my  connexions  was  a 
little  brother  Sabatis,  who  brought  the  cows 
for  me,  and  took  particular  notice  of  my 
child.  He  was  a  sprightly  little  fellow,  and  of- 
ten amused  me  with  feats  performed  with  his 
bow  and  arrow. 

I.,  the  early  part  of  November,  Mr.  John, 
son  wrote  from  Montreal  requesting  me  to 
prevail  on  the  Indians  to  carry  me  to  Montreal, 
for  sale,  as  he  had  made  provision  for  that  pur- 
pose.  I  disclosed  the  matter,  which  was 
agreed  to  by  my  brother  and  sister,  and  on  the 
seventh  we  set  sail  in  a  little  bark  canoe. 
While  crossing  Lake  St.  Peters,  we  came 
nigh  landing  on  the  shores  of  eternity.  The 
waves  were  raised  to  an  enormous  height  by 
the  wind,  and  often  broke  over  the  canoe.  My 
brother  and  sister  were  pale-is  ghosts,  and  we 
all  expected  immediate  destruction  ;  but  the 
arm  of  salvation  was  extended  for  our  relief, 
and  we  reached  die  shore.  We  were  four 
<1ays  in  this  voyage,  and  received  obhgmg  ci- 


vilit 

the 

had 

hns 

the 

era 

abil 

mai 

say 

wcl 

I 

dau 

ma 

to' 

cit' 

• 

boi 

the 

cai 

mi 

in^ 

re( 

mi 

le. 

Ic 

m; 

kc 

tei 

sc 

dc 

h£ 

hj 

tc 


'*'w^» 


6S" 


e  to  airs 
ly  thing 
:cd  them 

fatigues 
call  ne- 
',  which 
r.  I  had 
am  I  vis- 
)eing  one 
cd  full  as 
sns  was  a 
:he  cows 

of  my 
tr,  and  of- 
with  his 

ir,  John- 
ig  me  to 
Montreal, 
that  pur- 
liich  was 
nd  on  the 
k  canoe. 
)Ve  came 
y.  The 
leight  by 
noe.  My 
s,  and  we 
but  the 
lur  relief, 
/ere  four 
iging  ci- 


vilities every  night,  at  French  settlements ;  on 
the  eleventh,  we  arrived  at  Montreal,  where  1 
had  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  meeting  my 
husband,  children,  and  friends.  Here  1  had 
the  happiness  to  find,  that  all  my  fbllow  prison- 
era  had  been  purchased,  by  persons  of  respect- 
ability, by  whom  they  were  treated  with  hu- 
manity  ;  and  all  except  Polly,  of  whom  I  shall 
say  something  further,  I  believe  were  used  very 

well.  ,,    . 

Mr.  Du  Qucsne  bought  my  sister,  my  eldest 
daughter  was  owned    by  three  affluwt  old 
maids,  by  the  name  of  Jaisson,  and  the  other, 
to  wit,  Polly,  was  owned  by  the  mayor  of  the 
city.     The  mayor's  lady  had  her  kept  out  at 
boarding  and  nursing.     1  had  information  that 
the  child  was  not  well  used  ;    that  no  proper 
care  was  taken  of  her.     1  set  off  with  a  deter, 
minalion  to  find  her,  which  I  did,  and  en  find- 
ing her,  I  found  the  intelligence  which  I  had 
received  but  too  true.     To  see  my  child  in  so 
miserable  a  plight  gave  my  mind  much  troub- 
le.     1  informed  those  where  she  was  kept  that 
1  could  not  think  of  having  her  kept  in  such  a 
manner,  and  should  endeavor  to  have  her  ta- 
ken away,  and  put  where  she  might  have  bet- 
ter care  taken  of  her.     I  went  not  long  after  to 
see  her  again,  but  was  forbid  to  see  her,  by  or- 
der of  the  mayor's  lady.      I  thought  it  very 
hard  that  I  could  not  be  suffered  to  see  my  un- 
happy  child,  and  was  determined,  if  possible, 
to  get  her  away.     On  my  returning  to  my 


i 


}-i> 


1 ' 


lodging,  I  immediately  went  with  nn  inierpret- 
«:r  to  see  the  huly.     It  was  with  much  difficul 
ty  that  I  could  even  get  admittatice  so  as  to 
:ipcak  to  her;  but  when  1  did,  I  collected  all 
my  fortitude,  and  in  the  feeling  language  of  a 
moiiier,  made  my  suii  for  liberty  to  visit  my 
child.     iJut  I  was  denied  with  a  frown  !    The 
lady  could  not  sec  why  a  poor  woman,  and  a 
prisoner,  as  I  was,  should  want  to  torment  her- 
belf  and  child  with  such  fruitless  visits!    SIk: 
said  that  the  child  was  well  enough  off,  and 
when  it  arrived  at  a  suitable  age  she  should  see 
to  it  herself !  But  1  expostulated  with  her,  by 
the  interpreter,  upbraided  her  with  her  crueU 
ty  and  hardheartedncss,  and  the  vanity  of  her 
'hinking,  because  I  was  poor,  I  had  not,  or 
need  not  have,  any  love  or  concern  for  my 
•;liild  !    I  requested  her  to  think  as  a  mother, 
ihat  poverty  did  not,  nor  could  it  ever,  erase 
parental  love  and  affection.     I  told  her  that 
the  child  was  mine,  and  she  had  no  right  to  it. 
Wc  were  prisoners  it  was  true,  but  I  cxpceu 
ed  we  should  be  exchanged,  when  I  expected 
that  I  and  my  children  would   return  to  our 
native  country.     I  conjured  her  to  think  of  mc 
oil  her  pillow,  and  realize  the  matter,  by  ma- 
king my  case  hers,  and  consider  what  torture  I 
must  be  in,  while,  in  addition  to  my  being  a 
poor  prisoner,  I  was  deprived  of  the  privilege 
of  seeing  my  poor  unhappy  child.     And  much 
more  I  said  to  her,  to  this  effeet,  to  which  she 
seemed  to  pay  some  attention,  but  gave  me  no 


liivori 
rathci 
of  ho| 
succe 
dy  ini 
all  se 
wrou 
my  ol 
appoi 
vant  1 
might 
to  m; 
said  s 
servai 
child 
cr!" 
she  f 
tic  c! 
with 
for  al 
Iv 
amor 
have 
were 
dress 
carri< 
it.  • 
kept 
the  ] 
haps 
prise 
or's 


a 


>ierpret« 
difficul- 
}o  as  to 
:cttid  all 
lagc  of  a 
I'mt  my 
i!    The 
n,  and  a 
lent  her- 
s!    SIm: 
off,  and 
oiild  see 
her,  by 
r  cruel, 
y  of  her 
not,  or 
for  my 
mother, 
r,  erase 
ler  that 
\\t  to  it. 
cxpceu 
t  pec  ted 

to  our 
k,  of  me 
by  ma- 
)rturc  I 
being  a 
rivilcge 
d  mueh 
lich  she 

me  no 


lavorable  answer.  I  returned  to  my  lodging, 
rather  sad  and  gloomy,  though  not  entirely  out 
of  hopes  but  what  I  should  finally  meet  with 
success ;  for  I  thought  that  the  lady  (and  a  la- 
dy  indeed  she  appeared  to  be)  must  be  lost  to 
all  sense  of  humanity,  or  else  I  must  have 
wrought  a  little  upon  her  feelings,  which  was 
my  object  to  do.  And  in  this  1  was  not  dis- 
appointed ;  for  the  next  day  she  sent  her  ser- 
vant to  the  interjvreter  for  to  inform  me  that  I 
might  see  my  child,  and  do  with  it  according 
to  my  wishes.  «♦  Tell  that  English  woman,'* 
said  she,  *♦  I  could  not  sleep  last  night ;  her  ob- 
servations broke  my  heart !  She  may  have  her 
child  !  I  cannot  withhold  it  from  her  any  long- 
er !*♦  And  she  was  as  good  as  her  word  ;  for 
she  furnished  clothing,  and  I  had  my  dear  lit- 
tie  child  to  myself,  and  had  several  presents 
with  it  from  the  lady,  and  she  asked  nothing 
for  all  her  trouble. 

I  would  remark  here,  that  it  was  fashionable 
among  the  higher  class  of  people  in  Canada,  ta 
have  their  own  children  nursed  out  till  they 
were  about  three  or  four  years  old»  They  are 
dressed  neat  and  clean  about  once  a  month,  and 
carried  to  their  parents,  by  the  servant,  to  vis- 
it. The  other  part  of  the  time  they  are  not 
kept  in  so  clean  a  manner  by  their  nurses  as 
the  English  people  generally  are.  And  per- 
haps mine  was  more  neglected  for  being  a  poor 
prisoner's  child.  I  also  learned  that  the  may- 
or's lady  wished  very  much  to  have  my  chilO 

r  3 


again,  for  her  own,  as  she  had  had  but  only  one 
daughter,  vvho  had  died  just  before,  aged  15 
years. 

But  to  return  again  to  my  narrative Mr. 

Johnson  had  obtained  the  privilege  of  two 
months'  absence  on  parole,  for  the  purpose  of 
going  to  New- England,  to  procure  cash  tor  the 
redemption  of  his  family  ;  he  sat  out  on  his 
journey  the  day  after  my  arrival  at  Montreal. 
Mr.  Du  Quesne  engaged  to  supply  his  family 
with  necessaries,  during  his  absence,  and  was 
to  be  recompensed  at  his  return.  Directly  af- 
ter his  departure,  I  found  myself  doomed  to 
fresh  trouble.  The  Indians  brought  me  here 
for  the  purpose  of  exchanging  me  for  some 
Micanaw  savages,  a  tribe  with  whom  they 
were  at  war ;  but  b^ing  disappointed  in  this, 
they  were  exorbitant  in  their  demands,  and  re . 
fused  to  take  less  than  a  thousand  livres  for  me 
and  my  child.  Mr.  Du  Quesne  fixed  his  of- 
fer  at  seven  hundred,  which  was  utterly  re- 
iused  by  ray  savage  masters.  Their  next 
step  was  to  threaten  to  carry  me  back  to  St, 
Francis.  After  half  a  day's  surly  deliberation, 
;hey  concluded  to  take,  the  offered  sum.  I 
was  received  into  Mr.  Du  Quesne's  family. 
]My  joy  at  being  delivered  from  savage  captivi- 
ty was  unbounded.  From  this  period,  Indians 
and  sufferings  were  no  more  to  torture  me,  or 
my  family,  except  the  unfortunate  Sylvanus. 
The  fond  idea  of  liberty,  held  forth  its  dazzling 
pleasures,  and  the  ignorance  of  future  calami- 


67 


only  one 
aged  15 

Mr. 

5  of  two 

jrpose  of 
sh  tor  the 
ut  on  his 
Montreal, 
is  family 
and  was 
irectly  af- 
3omt;d  to 
;  me  here 
for  some 
om  they 
d  in  this, 
3,  and  re  • 
es  forme 
:d  his  of. 
tterly  re- 
leir  next 
ck  to  St. 
beration, 
sum.  I 
i  family. 
2  captivi- 
,  Indians 
re  me,  or 
•ylvanus. 
dazzling 
:  calami' 


ties,  precluded  every  cloud,  that  could  obsciirc 
its  effulgence.     On  Mr.  Johnson*s  journey  to 
New-i  ngland  I  rested  all  my  hope,  and  felt 
full  confidence  in  being  relieved  at  his  return. 
In  justice  to  the  Indians,  I  ought  to  remark, 
that  they  never  treated  me  with  cruelty  to  a 
wanton  degree  ;    few  people  have  survived  a 
situation  like  mine^  and   few  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  savages  disposed  to  more  lenity 
and  patience.     Modesty  has  ever  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  every  savage  tribe ;  a  truth  which 
my  whole  family  will  join  to  corroborate,  to  the 
extent  of  their  knowledge.     As  they  are  apt- 
ly  called  the  children  of  nature,   those  v.ho 
have  profited  by    refinement  and  education, 
ought  to  abate  part  of  the  prejudice,  which 
prompts  them  to  look  with  an  eye  of  censure 
on  this  untutored  race.     Can  it  be  said  of  civ- 
ilized conquerors,  that  they,  in  the  main,  are 
willing  to  share  wiih  their  prisoners,  the  last  ra- 
tion of  food^  when  famine  stares  them  in  the 
face  ?  Do  they  ever  adopt  an  enemy,  and  sa- 
lute  him  by  the  tender  name  of  brother?  And 
I  am  justified  in  doubting,  whether  if  I  had 
fallen  into  th.e   hands  of  French   soldiery,  so 
much  assiduity  would  have  been  shewn,  to 
preserve  my  life. 


i 


4 


,T 


6d 


I  I 


I" 


'  Wf 


'•■Mi' 


CHAP.  VI. 

iSfr.  Johnson's  Tour  to  Boston  and  Portsmouth, 
and  the  Catastrophe  at  his  return.  Arrival 
ai  the  Prison  in  Quebec, 

THE  reader  will  leave  me  and  my  family, 
under  the  care  of  our  factor,  a  short  time,  and 
proceed  with  Mr.  Johnson.  On  the  12th  of 
November,  he  sat  out  for  Albany,  accompa- 
nied by  two  Indians  for  pilots,  ti3r  whose  fidel- 
ity the  commander  in  chief  was  responsible. 

They  were  to  tarry  at  Albany  till  his  return. 
In  a  short  time  I  had  a  letter  from  Col.  Lydi- 
us,  informing  me  that  he  had  safely  arrived  at 
Albany,  f  and  had  gone  to  Boston.  His  first 
step  was  to  apply  to  Governor  Shirlev,  for 
money  to  redeem  his  family,  and  the  English 
prisoners,  Shirley  laid  his  matter  before  the 
General  Assembly,  and  they  granted  the  sum 
of  ten  pounds,  to  defray  his  expenses.  He  got 
no  further  assistance  in  Massachusetts,  and 
was  advised  to  apply  to  the  government  of 
New-Hampshire.  Gov.  Wentworth  laid  the 
matter  before  the  General  Assembly  of  that 
state,  and  the  sum  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  sterling  was  granted  for  the  purpose  of 
redemption  of  prisoners.  The  committee  of 
the  General  Court  of  New- Hampshire  gave 
him  tlie  following  directions  % 


III 

i 


m- 


onsmouth. 
Arrival 


ly  family, 
time,  and 
e  12th  of 
accompa> 
lose  fidel- 
nsible. — 
is  return. 
!ol.  Lydi- 
irrived  at 

His  first 
iriey,  for 
e  English 
jefore  the 
1  the  sum 
He  got 
etts,  and 
nment  of 
I  laid  the 
f  of  that 

and  fifty 
urpose  of 
mittee  of 
ire   gave 


Portsmouth,  N.  H.  Jan.  25,  1755. 
Mr.  James  Johnson— sir, 

Agreeable  to  your  letter  to  the  Secretary^ 
of  the  16th  instant,  you  have  enclosed  a  letter 
to  Col.  Cornelias  Cuyler,  Esq.  in  which  you 
will  observe  we  have  given  you  credit,  for  let- 
ters on  his  acquaintance  in  Canada,  to  furnish 
you  with  credit,  to  the  amount  ot  150  pounds 
sterling.  We  therefore  advise  yon  to  proceed 
to  Albany,  and  on  your  arrival  there,  deliver 
the  said  letter  to  Col.  Cuyler,  and  take  from 
him  such  credit  as  he  shall  give  you,  on  some 
able  person  or  persons  in  Canada,,  and  when 
you  are  thus  furnished,  you  will  then  proceed 
to  Canada,  and  there  negociate,  in  the  best  and 
most  frugal  manner  you  can,  the  purchasing 
such,  and  so  many  captives,  as  you  may  hear 
of,  that  have  been  taken  from  any  part  of  this 
province,  taking  care  that  the  aforesaid  sum' 
agreeable  to  the  grant  of  the  General  Assembly 
here,  be  distributed,  to  and  for  the  purchasing 
all  the  said  captives,  that  are  to  be  come  at,  in 
the  most  equal  and  exact  manner,  that  none 
may  be  left  there  for  want  of  their  quota  of  said 
money.  The  captive's  names,  and  places 
from  whence  taken,  that  we  have  information 
of,  you  have  herewith  a  list  of,  for  your  direc- 
tion. You  are  to  keep  an  exact  account  oP 
the  distribution  of  this  money,  in  order  to  your 
future  dischargCi. 

If  Colonel  Cuyler  should  not  be  living,  or 
refuse  you  his  good  offices  in  this  afiair,  you 


70 


Saunders, 


are  then  to  apply  to  the  Hon.  — — 
Esq.  Mayor  of  the  city  of  Albany,  or  any  oth. 
cr  person  that  can  give  you  credit  at  Canada, 
and  leave  with  them  our  letter  to  CoU  Cuyler, 
^vhich' shall  oblige  us  to  pay  the  said  sum  or 
sum&t  mentioned  in  the  said  letter,,  to  such 
person,  and  in  the  same  way  and  manner,  as 
we  have  obliged  ourselves  to  pay  him. 
We  are  your  friends, 

THEODORE  ATKINSON,! 

S.  WiBlRl',  I  ; 

MESHtXH  WFARE,  P 

BENJ.  SHERBURNE,  jun.  j 


Gom, 


A  List  of  the  Captives,  taken  from  the  Prov- 
ince of  JSTew- Hampshire,  by  the  St*  Francis 
Indians,  in  the  summer  o/1754. 
From  Charlestovvn,  on  Connecticut  River, 
James  Johnson,  his  wife,  and  four  chiL 

dren. 
Peter  Labarree. 
*  Ebenezer  Farnsworth* 
Miriam  VVillard. 

From  Merrimack  River, 
Nathaniel  Mallon,  his  wife  and  three  chil- 
dren. 
Robert  Barber. 
Samuel  Scribner. 
Enos  Bishop. 
In  addition  to  this  lettet  of  credit,  Govern- 
«r  Wentwortb  gave  him  the  fooUowing  pass, 
jiort ; 


Provinci 
By  His 


L.S, 


Whi 

did,  in  i 

of  his 

Provinc 

sold  the 

King  ii 

in  serv 

made  tc 

town,  ' 

captive 

countrj 

other  c 

passpor 

all  offi< 

other  I 

drance 

pany,  I 

all  ne3< 

this  Pr 

And 

Ma]esi 

ernme 


-  Saunders, 
or  any  oth- 
at  Canada, 
^ol,  Cuyler, 
said  sum  or 
jr,  to  such 
manner,  as 
lim* 


M,l 


>€ofn. 


»  the  Prov- 
6t,  Francis 

cut  River, 
id  four  chiL 


\  three  chil- 


lit,  GovcFn- 
Qwing  pass< 


7t^ 

Province  of  New  .Hampshire.in  New^England- 
By  His  fc^xcellency  Benninc  Wentworth, 
Esq.  Captain  General,  Governor,  and 
Commander  in  Chief,  in  end  over  l\!s 
Britannic  Majesty's  Province  of  New- 
^'  ^'  Hampshire  aforesaid,  and  Vice  Admi- 
ral of  the  same,  and  Surveyor  General 
of  all  his  Majesty's  Wood^  in  North 

Whereas  the  St.  Francis  and  other  Indians 
did,  in  the  summer  last  past,  captivate  sundry 
of  his  Majesty's  subjects,  inhnbitants  oi  this 
Province,  and  have,  as  I  have  been  informed, 
sold  the  same  to  the  subjects  of  the  French 
King  in  Canada,  where  they  are  nwv  detained 
in  servitude;     and  having    had    application 
made  to  me,  by  Mr.  James  Johnson,  of  Charles- 
town,  within  this   Province,  one  of  the  said 
captives,  who  obtained  leave  to  come  to  this 
country,  in  order  to  purchase  his  own,  and 
othrr  captives'  liberty.      For  letters  of  safe 
passport,  I  do  hereby  require  and  command, 
all  officers,  civil  and  military,  as  well  as  all 
other  persons,  that  they  offer  no  lelt  or  hin- 
drance to  the  said  James  Johnson,  or  his  com- 
pany,  but  contrurywise,  that  they  afford  him 
all  nesebsary  dispatch  in  said  journey  through 
this  Province.  . 

And  i  do  hereby  also  desire,  that  all  his 
Majesty's  subjects,  of  his  several  other  gov- 
ernments,  through  which  the  said  Johnson 


72 


l>H 


may  have  occasion  to  travel,  may  treat  him 
with  that  civility  that  bccometh. 

I  also  hereby  earnestly  entreat  the  Govern- 
or  General,  and  all  other  officers,  ministers 
and  subjects  of  his  most  Christian  Majesty, 
governing  and  inhabiting  the  country  and  ter- 
ritories of  Canada  aforesaid,  that  they  would 
respectively  be  aiding  and  assisting  to  the 
«»id  James  John-^on,  in  the  aforesaid  negocia- 
tion.  Hereby  engaging  to  return  the  same  ci- 
vility and  kindness,  to  any  of  his  most  Chris- 
tian Majesty's  officers  and  subjects,  when 
thereto  requested,  by  any  of  his  Governors  or 
proper  officers.  In  token  of  which,  I  have 
caused  the  public  seal  of  the  Province  of  New- 
Hampshire  aforesaid,  to  be  hereunto  affixed, 
this  -^Sih  day  of  January,  in  the  28th  year  of 
the  reign  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  George  the 
Second,  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland, 
King,  Defender  of  the  Faith,  &c. 

BENNING  VVENTWORTH. 
JBi/  his  Excellency'' s  Command y 

TheodoiiE  Atkinson,  Sec'y, 
Anno  Domini  1755. 

With  tlicse  credentials,  Mr.  Johnson  pro. 
ceeded  with  alacrity  to  Boston,  procured  Gov. 
Shirley's  passport,  and  set  forward  to  Wor- 
cester,  on  his  return  back  :  while  there,  he 
was  greatly  astonished  at  receiving  the  foUow- 
ing  letter  from  Governor  bbirley  : 


treat  him 

e  Govcrn- 
minlstcrs 
I  Majesty, 
ry  and  ter- 
hey  would 
ng  to  the 
d  negocia- 
le  same  ci- 
jost  Chris- 
cts,  when 
(vcrnors  or 
:h,  I  have 
:eofNew- 
to  affixed, 
:h  year  of 
leorge  the 
id  h"eland, 

ORTH. 

,  Sec'y. 


nson  pro. 
ured  Gov, 
to  Wor- 
:  there,  he 
he  foUoW'^ 


Boston,  February  15,  1755, 
Mn,  Johnson, 

There  have  some  things  happened  in  our 
public  affairs,  since  your  going  from  Boston, 
with  my  letters  to  the  Governor  of  Canada, 
and  intelligence  come  of  the  motions  of  the 
French  in  Canada,  for  further  invading  his 
Majesty's  territories  on  the  frontiers  of  New- 
York  and  New-Hampshire,  as  make  it  unsafe 
tor  you,  as  well  as  for  the  public,  to  proceed 
at  present  on  your  journey  to  Quebec ;  and 
therefore  I  expect  that  you  do  forthwith,  upon 
receiving  this  letter,  return  back,  and  lay  aside 
all  thoughts  of  going  forward  on  this  journey, 
till  you  have  my  leave,  or  the  leave  of  Gov- 
ernor Wentworth,  to  whom  1  shall  write,  and 
inform  him  of  what  I  have  undertook  to  do  \\\ 
this  matter,  in  which  his  Majesty's  service  is 
so  much  concerned.  W.  SHIRLEY. 

Mr,  James  Johnson. 
On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  he  returned 
with  a  heavy  heart  to  Boston,  and  was  posi- 
tively ordered  by  Shirley,  to  stay  till  further 
orders.  His  situation  now  was  really  deplora- 
ble. His  parole,  which  was  only  for  tw» 
months,  must  be  violated  ;  his  credit  in  Cana- 
da lost;  his  family  CNposed  to  the  malice  of 
exasperated  Frenchmen,  and  all  his  good  pros- 
pects at  an  end.  After  using  every  exertion, 
in  Boston,  for  leave  to  recommence  his  jour- 
ney, and  spending  the  rest  of  the  winter,  and 
all  the  spring,  he  found  his  efforts  were  in  vain.. 


I 


n 


U 

During  this  time,  my  situation  grew  daily 
distressing.  Mr.  Du  Quesne  made  honora- 
ble provision  for  myself,  sister  and  child,  till 
the  expiration  of  my  husband's  parole;  the 
two  Indians  were  then  sent  to  Albany,  to  pilot 
him  back  ;  after  waiting  some  time,  and  learn- 
ing nothing  about  him,  they  returned.  Pre 
vious  to  this  I  had  been  treated  with  great  at- 
tention and  civility  ;  dined  frequently  in  the 
first  families,  received  cards  to  attend  them  on 
parties  of  pleasure,  and  was  introduced  to  a 
large  and  respectable  acquaintance.  As  an  un- 
fortunate woman,  I  received  those  general  to- 
kens of  generosity  which  flow  from  a  humane 
people.  Among  the  presents  which  I  receiv- 
ed was  one  of  no  small  magnitude,  from  Cap- 
tains Stovvbrow  and  Vambrara,  two  gentlemen 
who  were  delivered  by  Major  Washington,  as 
hostages,  when  he,  with  the  Virginia  troops, 
surrendered  to  the  French  and  Indians.  In 
compliance  with  their  billet,  I  waited  on  them 
one  morning,  and  at  parting  received  a  present 
of  148  livres.  Mr.  St.  Agne,  a  French  gen- 
tleman of  fortune  and  distinction,  beside  fre- 
quent proofs  of  his  goodness,  gave  me  at  one 
time  48  livres.  In  his  family  I  formed  an  in- 
timate acquaintance  with  a  yoting  English  la- 
dy who  was  captured  by  the  Indians  in  the 
Province  of  Maine,  and  sold  to  him  :  She  was 
used  with  parental  tenderness,  and  shared  the 
privileges  gf  his  children ;  she,  with  his  daugh- 
ter, ^equently  came  in  their  morning  carriage. 


to  rid 

my  r 

favor 

larizii 

it  mu 

their  ( 

heart, 

ence. 

Wl 

tic  da 

stitioi 

either 

less  1; 

they 

apper 

Du  < 

Engl 

ne's 

Loui 

name 

Tl 

John: 

with 

from 

cont( 

most 

he  hj 

ed  hi 

ther 

now 

won 

wor< 


•••tpM 


Bw  daily 
honora- 
hitd,  till 
■ole;  the 
,  to  pilot 
ind  learn- 
d.  Pre 
great  at- 
ly  in  the 
them  on 
iced  to  a 
\s  an  un- 
;neral  to- 
1  humane 
I  receiv- 
om  Cap- 
entlemen 
igton,  as 
la  troops, 
ians.  In 
on  them 
a  present 
nch  gen- 
side  fre- 
ne  at  one 
led  an  in- 
iglish  la- 
IS  in  the 
She  was 
bared  the 
s  daugh- 
carriage. 


to  ride  with  my  sister  and  me.    Gratitude  lo 
my   numerous  benefactors,   pleads  loudly  in 
favor  of  inserting  all  their  names,  and  particu- 
larizing every  act  of  generosity.     If  I  omit  it, 
it  must  not  be  imagined  that  I  have  forgotten- 
their  charity  ;  it  has  left  an  impression  on  my 
heart,  that  can  only  be  erased  with  my  exist- 
ence. .   . 
While  in  Mr.  Du  Quesne's  family,  my  lit- 
tle daughter  was  very  unwell,  and  the  super- 
stitious people  were  convinced  that  she  would 
either  die,  or  be  carried  off  by  the  Devil,  un- 
less baptized.     I  yielded  to  their  wishes,  and 
they  prepared  for  the  ceremony,  with  all  the 
appendages  annexed  to  their  religion.     Mr. 
Du  Quesne  was  godfather,  and  the   young 
English  lady  godmother  ;  by  Mrs.  Du  Qucs- 
ne's  particular  request,   she    was  christened 
Louise,  after  herself— to  which  I  added  the 
name  of  Captive. 

The  return  of  the  Indians,  without  Mr.' 
Johnson,  boded  no  good  to  me.     I  observed 
with  pam,  the  gradual  change  in  my  friends, 
from  coldness  to  neglect,  and  from  neglect  to 
contempt.      Mr.   Du  Quesne,  who  had  the 
most  delicate  sense  of  honor,  supposed  that 
he  had  designedly  broken  his  parole,  and  abus- 
ed his  confidence  ;  he  refused  to  grant  me  fur- 
ther assistance,   or  even  to  see  my  face.     I 
now  found  myself  friendless  and  alone  ;  not  a 
word  had  I  heard  from  Mr.  Johnson,  not  af 
word  had  I  heard  from  my  little  son,  with  the 


■~!i 


'I 


I» 


;«■! 


^i 


Indians.  Aftiction  lowered  upon  mc,  with 
all  its  horrors;  in  tliis  dilemma,  my  sister 
and  I  agreed  to  take  a  small  room,  and  sup- 
port ourselves,  till  our  little  store  of  cash  was 
expended,  and  then  have  recourse  to  our  nee- 
<lles. 

In  the  beginning  of  April,  the  Indians  made 
a  second  tour  to  Albany,  in  quest  of  Mr.  John- 
son, and  again  returned  without  him.     I  wrote 
to  Col.  Lydius  for  information,  but  he  could 
tell  nothing.     Darkness  increased  ;  but  I  sum- 
moned all  my   resolution,   and  indulged  the 
fond  hope  of  being  soon  relieved.     VVe  kept 
our  little  room  till  June,  when  I  had  the  bappi 
ness  to  Iiear  that  my  hushand  was  without  the 
city,  wailing  for  permission  to  come  in.     He 
was  co^iducted  in  by  a  file  of  men  ;  his  prcs- 
f^nce  banished  care  and  trouble,   and  turned 
the  tear  of  sorrow  to  the  efFasion  of  joy  ;  after 
the  joy  of  meeting  had  subsided,  he  related  his 
sad  I'ijtc  in  New  Kngland.     He  finally  got  per- 
mission  from  Gov.   Wentworth  to  come  pri- 
vately,  by  the  way  of  Albany,  where  he  took 
his  bills,  drawn  by  Mr.  Cuyler,  on  Mr.  St. 
Luc  Lucorne,  and  Mr.  Rine  Du  Quesne.  The 
face  of  affairs  in  Canada  had  materially  chang- 
ed; during  his  absence  a  new  Governor  had 
been  sent  over,  and  various  manoeuvres  in 
politics  had  taken  place,  which  were  very  in- 
3urious  to  him.     Had  the  old  governor  tarried, 
his  absence  would  have  probably  been  excus- 
ed.   But  Mons.   Vandrieul  was  ignorant  of 


ffoni. 
our  onl; 
consist 
On  the 
pox, an 
hushuni 
In  two 
child,  ( 
kept  th( 
cd  it,  c 
get  her 
My  1 
hospital 
bathing 
and  sail 
the  will 
might  1 
le  !"  I 
my  mi 
not  cor 
we  kna 
is  so  m 
the  grei 
we  arri 
thiseffv 
collect, 
have  hi 
tions  ft 
narrati^ 
in  prist 
portior 
to  the 


J 


81 


y  sister 
\\\d  sup- 
;ash  was 
our  ncc- 

ns  made 
[r.  Johii- 

t  wrote 
c  could 
It  I  suiri- 
gcd  the 
Ve  kept 
e  happi 
liout  the 
n.  He 
lis  prcs- 

turncd 
' ;  after 
atcd  his 
^ot  per- 
jne  pri- 
he  took 
VIr.  St. 
e.  The 

chang- 
lor  had 
vres  in 
ery  in- 
tarried, 
excus- 
rant  of 


ffoni.  The  straw  and  lousy  blankets  were 
our  only  lodging,  ano  the  rest  of  our  furniture 
consisted  of  some  wooden  blocks  for  seats. 
On  the  fifteenth  day  I  was  taken  with  the  small 
pox,  and  removed  to  the  hospital ;  leaving  my 
husband  and  two  "hildren  in  the  horrid  prison. 
In  two  days  Mr.  Johnson  put  my  youngest 
child,  Captive,  out  to  nurse.  The  woman 
kept  the  child  but  a  lew  days  before  she  relurn- 
cd  it,  owing  to  a  mistrust  that  she  should  not 
get  her  pay. 

My  husband  brought  the  child  to  me  at  the 
hospital,  and  told  me  the  sad  tale.     And  after 
bathing  the  poor  little  infant  in  tears  I  thought, 
and  said,  •*  the  task  is  too  hard— had  it  been 
the  will  of  God  to  have  taken  the  child  away  it 
might  have  alleviated  some  part  of  our  troub- 
le !"  But  my  husband  immediately  checked 
my  murmurings,  and  said,  •'  be  still  and  let  us 
not  complain  of  the  providence  of  God  ;    for 
we  know  not  for  what  purpose  this  dear  child 
is  so  miraculously  preserved.     It  may  yet  be 
the  greatest  comfort  to  us  in  our  old  age  should 
we  arrive  to  it ;"  and  much   more  he  said  to 
this  effect,  which  I  do  not  so  particularly  re- 
collect.    And  I  am  constrained  to   say  that  I 
have  had  the  happiness  of  finding  his  predic- 
tions fully  exemphfied.     But  to  return  to  my 
narrative.     Should  the  dear  little  thing  remain 
in  prison,  certain  death  must  inevitably  be  her 
portion.    My  husband  was  therefore  reduced 
to  the  sad  necessity  of  requesting  the   woraaa 


ft' 
'I 


i 


..-.ttmatf 


82 


to  carry  it  to  the  Lord  Intendant,  and  tell  him 
that  he  must  either  allow  her  u  compensation 
lor  keeping  it,  or  it  must  be  left  at  his  door. — 
The  good  woman  dressed  it  decently,  and  o- 
beyed  her  orders.  Mr.  Intendant  smiled  at 
her  story,  and  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  say- 
ing  it  was  a  pretty  little  English  devil,  it  was  a- 
pity  it  should  die  ;  he  ordered  his  clerk  to  draw 
an  order  for  its  allowance,  and  she  took  good 
care  of  it  till  the  last  of  October,  except  a  few 
days  while  it  had  the  small  pox. 

A  few  days  after  I  left  the  prison,  Mr.  John- 
3Dn  and  mv  other  daughter  were  taken  with 
symptoms  and  came  to  the  hospital  to  me.  It 
is  a  singular  instance  of  Divine  Interposition, 
thut  we  all  recovered  from  this  malignant  dis- 
ease. We  were  remanded  to  prison,  but  were 
not  compelled  to  our  former  rigid  confinement. 
Mr.  Johnson  was  allowed,  at  certain  times,  to 
go  about  the  city  in  quest  of  provision.  But 
on  the  20th  of  October,  St.  Luc  L.ucorne  ar- 
rived from  Montreal,  with  the  news  of  Dies- 
kau's  defeat  ;  he  had  ever  since  my  husband's 
misfortune,  about  his  parole,  been  his  perse- 
cuti!ig  enemy.  By  his  instigation  we  were  all 
put  directly  to  close  prison. 

Tuc  ravages  of  the  small  pox  reduced  us  to 
the  last  extremity,  and  the  fcetid  prison,  ^vith- 
out  fire  or  food,  added  bitterness  to  our  distres. 
Mr.  Johnson  preferred  a  petition  to  the  Lord 
Intendant,  stating  our  melancholy  situation. 
I  Iiad  the  liberty  of  presenting  it  myself,  and' 


by  the  i 

preter, 

ute  friei 

the  first 

of  a  {e\ 

my  dau 

dence  t 

recovei 

my  huf 

an  opp< 

dings  c 

at  Mor 

to  my  < 

fellow 

that  ou 

word  h 

Win 

vere  fr< 

feeling 

from  tl 

and  a  V 

we  ma' 

bly:  I 

poor  fii 

cess  to 

quart  I 

cook  c 

in,  anc 

furnitv 

jail— ^ 

fori  c 

Oui 


1  tell  him 
pensation 
i  door. — 
Yt  and  o- 
smiled  at 
rms,  say. 
,  it  was  if 
k  to  draw 
:ook  good 
pt  a  few 

VIr.  John- 
ken  with 
0  me.     It 
rpobition, 
;tiant  dis« 
but  were 
fiuement. 
times,   to 
on.     But 
icornc  ar- 
of  Dies. 
husband's 
lis  perse- 
were  all 

;ed  us  to 
on,  with, 
ir  distres. 
the  Lord 
situation, 
'self,  and- 


83 

by  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Perthicur,  the  Inler- 
preter,  in  whom  we  ever  found  a  compassion- 
ute  friend,  we  ROt  some  small  relief.  About 
the  first  of  November  I  was  laken  violently  ill 
of  a  fever,  and  was  carried  to  the  hospital,  with 
my  daughter  Captive.  After  a  month's  resiw 
dencc  there,  with  tolerable  good  attendance,  I 
recovered  from  my  illness,  and  went  back  to 
my  husband.  While  at  the  hospital,  I  found 
an  oppoitunity  to  convey  the  unwelcome  ti- 
dings of  our  deplorable  situation  to  my  sister, 
at  Montreal,  charging  her  to  give  my  btst  love 
to  my  daughter  Susanna,  and  to  inform  our 
fellow  prisoners,  Labarree  and  Famsworth, 
that  our  good  wishes  awaited  them.  Nota^ 
word  had  we  yet  heard  from  poor  Sylvanus. 

Winter  now  began  to  approach,  and  the  se- 
vere frosts  of  Canada  operated  keenly  upon  our 
feelings.     Our  prison  was    a    horrid  defence 
from  the  blasts  of  December  ;  with  two  chairs 
and  a  heap  of  straw,  and  two  lousy  blankets, 
we  may  well  be  supposed  to  live  uncomforta- 
bly :  but  in  addition  to  this,  we  had  but  on3 
poor  fire  a  dav,  and  the  iron  grates  gave  free  ac 
cess  to  the  chills  of  the  inclement  sky.     A 
quart  bason  was  the  only  thing  allowed  us  to 
cook  our  small  piece  of  meat  and  dirty  crusts 
in,  and  it  must  serve  at  the  same  time  for  tabic 
furniture-     In  this  sad  plight— a  prisoner — in 
jail— winter    approaching — conceive    reader, 
for  I  cannot  speak  our  distress. 

Our  former    benevolent    friends,   Captain 


t'^v^'^!?.?*iJBWjMwg''- »■"'•■ ''  i"i''»(/^^ 


1' 


84 

Stowbrow  and  Vambtam,  had  the  peculiar 
misiprtunc  to  be  cast  into  a  prison  opposite  to 
us.  Susjncion  of  having  corresponded  with 
their  countrymen,  was  the  crime  with  which 
tjaey  were  charged.  Their  misfortune  did  not 
preclude  the  exertion  of  generosity  ;  they  fre- 
quently sent  us,  \y  the  waiting  maid,  bottles 
ofwiiie,  and  articles  of  provision.  But  the 
malice  of  Frenchmen  had  now  arrived  to  such 
a  pitch,  against  all  our  country,  that  we  must 
be  deprived  of  these  comforts.  These  good 
men  were  forbidden  their  offices  of  kindness, 
and  our  intercourse  was  entirely  prohibited. 
We  however  found  means,  by  a  stratagem,  to 
effect  in  some  measure,  what  could  not  be 
done,  by  open  dealing.  "When  the  servants 
were  carrying  in  our  daily  supplies,  we  slipped 
into  the  entry,  and  deposited  our  letters  in  an 
ash  box,  which  were  taken  by  our  friends, 
they  leaving  one  at  the  same  time  for  us ;  this 
served,  in  some  measure,  to  amuse  a  dull  hour 
— sometimes  we  diverted  ourselves  by  the  use 
of  Spanish  cards ;  as  Mr.  Johnson  was  igno- 
rant of  the  game,  I  derived  no  niconsiderable 
pleasure  from  instructing  him.  '  But  the  vigil- 
ance of  our  keepers  increased,  and  our  paper 
and  ink  were  withheld.— We  had  now  been 
prisoners  sevenieen  months,  and  our  prospects 
were  changing  from  bad  to  worse ;  five  months 
had  elapsed  since  our  confinement  in  this 
horrid  receptacle,  except  the  time  we  lin- 
gered in  the  hospital.     Our  jaikr  was  a  true 


I 


Si 


e  peculiar 
opposite  to 
nded  with 
tvith  which 
ine  did  not 
;  they  fre- 
lid,  bottles 
.  But  the 
ed  to  such 
at  we  must 
I'hese  good 
f  kindness, 
prohibited, 
ratagem,  to 
Lild  not  be 
le  servants 
we  slipped 
:tters  in  an 
ur  friends, 
or  us ;  this 
a  dull  hour 

by  the  use 
I  was  igno- 
onsiderable 
It  the  vigil- 

our  paper 
i  now  been 
r  prospects 
Eive  months 
nt  in  this 
e    we    lin- 

was  a  true 


I 


descer 

patient 

as  to  g 

us,     S 

ed  our 

our   ft 

what  h 

our  di 

tial  fri 

would 

next  <] 

was  oi 

others 

his  CO 

tress, 

"himsc 

tics  to 

his  o\ 

dies, ; 

Th 

tenda! 

sell"  b; 

spccii 

ernor 

rrleas 

Ml.  . 

the  di 

ly  \vr 

ing  » ' 

bcg(j 

our  d 

Gov. 


f 


'W, 


as 


descendant  from  Pharaoh ;  but,  urged  by  im 
patience  and  despair,  I  softened  him  so  much 
as  to  get  him  to  ask  Mr.  Perthieur  to  call  on 
us.     When  the  good  man  came,  we  describ- 
ed our  situation  in  all  the  moving  terms  which 
our   feelings  inspired,    which  in  addition  to 
what  he  saw,  convinced  him  of  the  reality  of 
our  distress.     He  proposed  asking  an  influen- 
tial  friend  of  his  to  call  on  us,  who,  perhaps, 
would  devise  3ome  mode  for  our  relief.     The 
next  day  the  gentleman  came  to  see  us  ;    he 
was  one  of  those  good  souls  who  ever  feel  for 
others  woes.     He   was  highly  affronted  with 
his  countrymen  for  reducing  us  to  such  dis- 
tress, and   declared  that  the  Lord   Intcndant 
liimsclf  should  call  on  us,  and  see  the  extremi« 
tics  to  which  he  had  reduced  us  ;  he  sent,  from 
his  own  house,  that  night,  a  kettle,  some  can- 
dles, and  each  of  us  a  change  of  linen. 

The  next  day,  January  8ih,  1756,  Mr.  In- 
tcndant came  to  sec  usi  he  exculpated  him- 
self by  saying  that  we  were  put  there  bv  the 
special  order  of  Mons.  Vaudrieut,  the  Gov- 
ernor in  chief,  and  that  he  had  no  authority  to 
rrleasc  us.  But  he  would  convey  a  Ictte?-  from 
Ml.  Joluison  to  Monsieur,  which  might  have 
the  desired  ( ffect.  The  letter  was  according- 
ly wriiten,  t.tatingour  troubles,  and  beseech- 
ing  \r\'n[^  likewise  praying  that  our  son  might 
be  got  irom  the  Indians  and  sent   to  us,  with 

ovir  daughter  and  sister  from  Montreal The 

Gov.  returned  the  following  oblisjinr  letter  • 


I 


66 


TRANSLjiTION. 

T.  have  received,  Sir,  your  letter,  and  am 
much  concerned  for  the  situation  you  are  in. 
I  write  to  Mr.  Longieul,  to  put  you  and  your 
.  wife  in  the  civil  jail.  Mr.  L.  Intendant  will 
be  so  good  as  to  take  some  notice  of  the  tlrings 
you  stand  in  need  of,  and  to  help  you.  As  to 
your  boy,  who  is  in  the  hands  of  the  Indians,  I 
will  do  allthat  is  in  my  power  to  get  him,  but 
I  do  not  hope  to  have  a  good  success  in  it ; 
your  child  in  town,  and  your  sister- in  law  are 
well.  If  it  is  some  opportunity  of  doing  you 
some  pleasure,  I  will  make  tse  of  it,  unless 
some  reason  might  happen  that  hinder  and  stop 
the  effects  of  my  good  will.  If  you  had  not 
before  given  some  cause  of  being  suspected, 
you  should  be  at  liberty.  I  am,  Sir,  your  most 
liumble  servant,  VAUDRIEUL. 

From  the  receipt  of  this  letter  wc  dated  our 
escape  from  direful  bondage.  Mr.  Intendant 
ordered  us  directly  to  the  new  jail,  called  the 
civil  prison,  where  our  accommodikions  were 
infinitely  better.  We  had  a  decent  bed,  can- 
dles, fuel,  and  all  the  conveniences  belonging 
to  prtsoners  of  war.  Mr.  Johnson  wasallow. 
cd  fifteen  pence  per  day,  on  account  of  a  lieu- 
tenant's commission  which  he  held  under 
Qeorge  the  Second,  and  I  was  permitted  to  go 
once  a  w^ek  into  tlie  city  to  purchase  necessa> 


nes;  J 
use. 
limits 
only  h 
situati( 
we  enc 
we  im 
tune,  £ 


^4i 


and  am 
u  are  in. 
and  your 
dant  will 
ic  tiTings 
.  As  to 
ndians,  I 
him,  but 
ss  in  it ; 
1  law  afe 
ling  you 
t,  unless 
and  stop 
had  not 
spected, 
>ur  most 
£U,L. 


87 

ries ;  and  a  washerwoman  was  provirted  for  my 
use.  We  were  not  confined  to  tW  larrow 
limits  of  a  single  room,  but  were  res. rained 
only  by  the  bounds  of  the  jail  yard*  Our 
situation  formed  such  a  contrast*  with  what 
we  endured  in  the  gloomy  criminal  jail,  that 
we  imagined  ourselves  the  favorites  of  for- 
tune, and  in  high  life. 


1} 

'I 
I 


ated  our 
Jtendant 
lUcd  the 
as  were 
z6t  can. 
longing 
IS  allow- 
■  a  lieu- 
under 
;d  to  go 
lecessa* 


...I'JT 


8S 


i 


■  'ii! 


HI 


CHAP.  Vlli. 

i. 

Residence  In  the  Civil  Jail,    and  occurrettccs 
till  the  txventieth  of  Jiily^  1757. 

TO  bo  indolent  from  necessUv,  has  ever 
been  deemed  a  formidable  evil.  No  better 
witnesses  than  ourselves  can  testify  the  truth 
of  the  remark,  although  our  lodgings  were 
now  such  as  we  envied  a  month  before  ;  yet 
to  be  compelled  to  continual  idleness,  was 
grievous  to  be  borne.  We  derived  fsome 
amusement  from  the  cultivation  of  a  small 
garden,  within  the  jail  yard;  but  a  continued 
sameness  of  friends  and  action,  rendered  our 
time  extremely  wearisome. 

About  a  month  after  our  arrival  at  this  new 
abode,  one  Captain  Milton,  with  his  crew, 
who,  with  their  vessel,  were  taken  at  sea., 
were  brought  |,risoners  of  war  to  the  same 
place.  Milton  was  lodged  in  our  apartment ; 
he  had  all  the  rude  boisterous  airs  ofa  seaman, 
w  ithout  the  least  trait  of  a  gentleman,  which 
rendered  him  a  very  troublesome  companion. 
His  impudence  was  consummate,  but  that  was 
not  the  greatest  evil ;  while  some  new  recruits 
were  parading  before  the  prison  one  day,  Mil- 
ton addressed  them  in  very  improper  i  uiguage 
from  our  window,  which  was  noticed  directly 
by  city  authority,  who,  supposing  it  to  be  Mr 


Johns( 
ly  iifFe 
on  my 
ascerts 
Miltoi 
An 
his  wi 
happy 
and  1( 
childn 
could 
and  of 
the  ce 
bound 
Cai 
were 
ed  us 
try,  ai 
some 
Inl 
jailer, 
us  on 
Wee 
ring  r 
side, 
prisoi 
let  w£ 

men  i 
Th 

1750 

tion. 

my  s' 


r 


1 


'currejicci- 
»7. 

has  ever 
Mo  better 

the  truth 
igs  were 
fore  ;  yet 
less,  was 
red  fsome 
;  a  small 
;ontinued 
dered  our 

this  new 
lis  crew, 
n  at  sea, 
the  same 
lartmcnt ; 
i)  seaman, 
n,  which 
mpanion. 
t  that  was 
V  recruits 
day,  Mil- 
luiguage 
\  directly 
o  be  Mr 


89 

iohnsoft,  ordered  him  into  the  dungeon.  Deep- 
ly  affected  by  this  new  trouble,  I  again  called 
on  my  friend  Mr.  Perthieur,  who,  after  having 
ascertained  the  facts,  got  him  released.  Mr. 
Milton  was  then  put  into  other  quarters. 

A  new  jailer,  who  had  an  agreeable  lady  for 
his  wife,  noV.  made  our  situation  still  more 
happy.  My  little  daughters  played  with  hers, 
and  learned  the  French  language.  But  my 
children  were  some  troable-^the  eldest,  Polly, 
could  slip  out  into  the  street  under  the  gate, 
and  often  came  nigh  being  lost :  I  applied  to 
the  centinel,  and  he  kept  her  within  proper 
bounds- 

Capt.  M'Neil  and  his  brother,  from  Boston,' 
were  brought  to  us  as  prisoners  ;  they  inform- 
ed us  of  the  state  of  poUtics  in  our  own  coun- 
try, and  told  us  some  interesting  news  about 
some  of  our  friends  at  home. 

In  the  morning  of  the  13t.h  of  August,  our 
jailer,  with  mooneyes,  came  to  congratulate 
us  on  the  taking  of  Oswego  by  the  French. 
We  entered  little  into  his  spirit  of  V  y,  prefer- 
ring much  to  hear  good  news  from  the  other 
side.  We  were  soon  visited  by  some  -of  lUe 
prisoners,  who  had  surrend^  od.  Gol.  Schuy- 
ler was  in  the  number,  wivj,  with  the  gvntle- 

men  in  his  suit,  made  us  a  g "icious  present. 
The  remainder  of  the   ?  ummc*    and  fail,  of 

1750,  p?.>scd  ufl'  without  nr.y  sen  .rt^ie  v<iria- 

tioji.     \st  firqu(.:nli;-  hear!  from  rvlontreal; 

my  sist-er  was  vcrv  well  siiuatctJ,  in  iV<-  faraJly 
•  '      li  2 


ft 


J 


p\>  I- 


ft, 


of  the  Lieut.  Governor,  and  my  eldest  dau^« 
ter  was  caressed  by  her  three  mothers.  Could 
I  have  heard  from  my  son,  half  my  trouble 
would  have  ended. 

In  December  I  was  delivered  of  a  son, 
M'hich  lived  but  a  few  hours,  and  was  buried 
Tinder  the  Cathedral  Church. 

In  the  winter  I  received  a  letter  from  my 
sister,  containing  the  sad  tidings  of  my  father's 
death.  He  was  killed  the  16th  of  June,  1756, 
about  fifty  rods  east  from  the  main  street  in 
Charlestown,  on  the  same  lot  on  which  my 
youngest  brother  now  lives.  My  father  and 
my  brother,  Moses  Willard,  were  repairing 
Mome  fence  on  the  rear  of  the  lots,  and  the  In- 
dians, being  secreted  in  the  bushes  a  small  dis- 
tance from  them,  fired  upon  them,  and  shot  my 
father  dead  on  the  spot.  They  then  sprang  to 
:atch  my  brother — he  ran  for  the  fort,  and 
there  being  a  rise  of  ground  to  pass  towards 
the  fort,  the  Indian  that  followed  him,  finding 
that  he  could  not  catch  him,  sent  his  spear 
which  pierced  his  thigh,  with  which  he  ran  to 
the  fort.  He  is  now  living  in  Charlestown, 
and  still  carries  the  scar  occasioned  by  the 
wound. 

The  melancholy  tidings  of  the  death  of  my 
father,  in  addition  to  my  other  afflictions,  wore 
upon  me  sensibly  ;  and  too  much  grief  rcdu- 
rod  me  to  a  weak  condition.  I  was  taken 
H'ick,  and  canted  to  the  hctspilal,  where,  after 


a  mont 

able  to 

The 

cd  off  \ 

our  fell 

we  ma( 

the  firs 

drieul  1 

prayer 

pleasui 

years. 

die,  ir 

where 

ceived 

Imp 

other  i 

thieur 

Intend 

terms 

ers  ah 

thing 

portio 

listen< 

lay  ot 

and  g 

expir; 

leave 

the  el 

felt  tl 

them! 

breati 

took 


1 


t  tlau^« 

Could 

trouble 

n   son, 
i  buried 


rem  my 
father's 
e,  1756, 
street  in 
hich  my 
iher  and 
epairing 
1  the  In- 
malldis- 
shot  my 
prang  to 
:)rt,  and 
towards 
finding 
lis  spear 
le  ran  to 
lestown, 
I  by  the 

h  of  my 
IS,  wore 
ef  redu. 
IS  taken 
e,  after 


91 

a  month's  lingering  illness,  I  found  myself 

able  to  return. 

The  commencement  of  the  year  1757  pas- 
cd  ofF  without  a  prospect  of  liberty.  Part  of 
our  fellow  prisoners  were  sent  to  France,  but 
we  made  no  voyage  out  of  the  jail  yard.  About 
the  first  of  May,  we  petitioned  Mons.  Van- 
drieul  to  permit  our  sister  to  come  to  us.  Our 
prayer  was  granted,  and  in  May  we  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her,  after  an  absence  of  twcs? 
years.  She  had  8ui)ported  herself  by  her  nee- 
die,  in  the  family  of  the  J^ient.  Governor, 
where  she  was  treated  extremely  well,  and  re- 
ceived a  present  of  four  crowns,  at  parting. 

Impatient  of  confinement,  we  now  made  an* 
other  attempt  to   gain  our  liberty.     Mr.  Per- 
thieur  conducted  us  to  the  house  of  the  Lord 
Intcndant,  to  whom  we  petitioned  in  pressing 
terms  ;  stating,  that  we  had  now  been  prison- 
ers almost  three  years,  and  had  suffered  every 
thing  but  death,  and  that  would  be  our  speedy 
portion  unless  we  had  relief.      His  Lordship 
listened  with  seeming  pity,  and  promised  to 
lay  our  case  beFore  the  head  man,  at  Montreal, 
and  give  us  an  aubwcr.  in  seven  days  ;  at  the 
expiration  of  which  time,  we  had  a  permit  to 
leave  the  prison.     It  is  not  easy   to  describe 
the  effect  of  such  news ;  tbos:  only,  who  have 
felt  the  horrors  of  confinement,  can  figure  to 
themselves  the  happiness  we  enjoyed,  when 
breathing,  once  more,  the  air  of  liberty.     We 
took  lodgings  in  town,  where  we  tarried  till 


I 


02 

the  first  of  June;  when  a  cartel  ship  anivcii 
to  carry  prisoners  to  England  for  an  exchange. 
Mr.  Johnson  wrote  an  urgent  letter  to  Mons. 
Vaudrieul,  praying  that  his  llimily  might  be 
included  with  ihosc  who  were  to  take  passage. 
Monsieur  wrote  a  very  encouraging  letter  back, 
promisino;  that  lie  and  his  family  should  sail ; 
and  that  Lis  daughter,  Susanna,  should  be  sent 
to  him— he  concluded  by  congratulating  him 
on  his  good  prospects,  and  ordering  the  Gov- 
ernor  ol  Quebec  to  afford  us  his  assistance. 
Ihis  letter  was  dated  June  the  27tlL 

That  the  reader  may  the  better  realize  our 
situ,  tion  and  feelings  on  this  occasion,  the 
copies  of  the  letters  are  here  inserted  : 

11  ^i^^^'^  ^^^^^  ^'^'"^  current  in  town  that 
9II  the  English  prisoners  were  exchanged  and 
Hre  to  be  sent  off  soon,  made  me  apply  to  Mr. 
rerthieur  to  know  of  him  whether  I  was  in- 
cluded.    He  told  me  that  Jje  knew  nothing  of 
the  affair ;  this  makes  me  take  the  liberty  to 
apply  to  your  Excellency,  to  pray  you  to  have 
compassion  on  my  distressed  situation,  and  to 
send  me  away  with  others.     It  is  now  almost 
three  years   that  1  h^re  been  a  prisoner  with 
my  family,  which  1ms  already  reduced  me  to 
extreme  want,  and,  unlesi>  jour   Excellency 
pities  me,  I  am  likely  to  roniinue  miserable 
foicvtr.     Were  I  all  al;:.     Uic  aiT/ir  uould 
not  be  so  melancholy— bu:  slaving  a  nie.and 
sister,  auJ  four  children,  involved  m  my  mis- 


■"^. 


y  anivcii 
xchangc. 
:o  Mons. 
might  be 
passage. 
;ter  back, 
uld  sail ; 
1  be  sent 
ting  him 
the  Gov- 
sistance. 

ilize  our 
ion,  the 


>w»n  that 
ged  and 
r  to  Mr. 

was  in- 
fthing  of 
Derty  to 

to  have 
I,  and  to 

ahtiost 
jcr  with 
I  me  to 
iellency 
iserable 
r  would 
lie,  and 
ky  mis- 


9J 

'fortune,  makes  it  the  more  deplorable.  And 
to  add  to  all  my  misery,  my  boy  is  still  in  the 
hands  of  the  savages,  notwithstanding  1  rely 
upon  the  letter  your  Excellency  did  me  the 
honor  to  condescend  to  write  n\c,  to  assure  me 
of  your  endeavors  in  withdrawing  him  out  of 
their  hands— and  1  must  therefore  once  more 
take  the  liberty  to  entreat  you  to  do  it,  and 
send  him  down  here,  as  well  as  my  girl,  still 
at  Montreal,  and  their  ransom  shall  be  immedi- 
ately paid. 

As  I  have  your  Excellency's  parole  to  be 
one  of  the  first  prisoners  sent  away,  1  will  not 
give  myself  leave  to  doubt,  or  tear  that  I  shall 
not— and  your  Excellency  well  knows  that 
your  predecessor,  Mr.  D'Longueille,  gave  me 
his,  that  upon  reiurning  from  New- England 
with  the  ransom  of  myself  and  family,  I  should 
be  at  liberty  ;  nevertheless  I  was  not,  owing  to 
want  of  opportunity. 

Your  Excellency  made  me  the  same  prom- 
ise, and  the  oi  casion  now  presenting  itself,  I 
well  know  that  I  have  only  to  put  you  in  mind 
of  it  in  order  to  the  gaining  of  my  desire. 

Should  it  be  impossible  to  get  my  children 
with  me,  (though  that  would  be  the  greatest  ©f 
misfotlur.es)  yet  that  should  not  hinder  me 
from  g.:>itig  myself,  in  expectation  of  peacet 
when  i  iiught  once  more  return  and  fetch 
them  myself.  . 

I  hope  your  Excellency  will  easily  forgive 


iv-.!:i.c>; 


I* 


'1! 


:i  r 


«* 

the  trouble  my  miaerablc  situation  obnges  mc 
to  give  you,  and  that  you  wili,  with  your 
wonted  goodness,  grant  v; .»    r.  rjuest 
lam,  with  profout) dl  estfien^, 

Sir,  your  most  bun  -le,  and 
most  obedii'.it  servant; 

lAMJiS  JOHNSON. 
J}dom.  D*Vaudrieul. 

Q^uebec,  2l8t  Jmic,  1757; 

Answer  to  the  foregoing^ 

^^  THAMSLAllON. 

Montred.  June  27,  1757- 
SIR — I  have  received  your  letter  of  the 
current  month.  I  will  'consent,  with  pleasure, 
to  your  being  sent  back  to  England  in  the 
packet-boat,  which  I  am  about  to  dispatch, 
with  some  Enelish  prisoners. .  For  this  pur- 
pose, I  will  send  your  daughter  to  Quebec  by 
the  first  vessel.  I  am  glad  to  learn,  that  you 
are  in  a  situation  to  pay  her  ransom.  I  wish 
that  you  might  find  the  same  facility,  on  the 
part  of  the  savages,  to  get  your  son  out  of 
their  hands.  When  I  shall  have  dispatched 
your  daughter,  I  will  write  to  Mons.  D'Lon- 
gueil  to  send  you  back,  with  your  family,  af- 
ter you  shall  have  satisfied  the  persons,  who 
have  made  advances  for  their  recovery  from  the 
savages.     I  am,  Sir,  your  affectionate  servant, 

VAUDRIEUL. 
Mr*  lames  Johnson,. 


%.     ' 


bnges  mc 
irith  your 


and 
Tvant; 
NSON. 


,  1757, 
:r  of  the 
pleasure, 
id  in  the 
dispatch, 
this  pur- 
utbec  by 
that  you 
I  wish 
:y,  on  the 
n  out  of 
ispatched 

D'Lon- 
miJy,  af- 
3ns,  who 

from  the 
;  servant, 
EUL. 


4 


I  I 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


,/^..t^ 


1.0 


I.I 


bi|U    125 

i50     "^^       M^^ 

m  1^   12.2 

tu  lil 


lit 

Its 


2.0 


I 

m 

L25  114  liA 


mmi 


6" 


«5 


U^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 

CorporaBon 


23  WfST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MStO 

(716)872-4303 


V 


k^' 


SJ 


v 


V 


WHWIIWBW 


■Hi 


I 


M 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductlons  historiques 


1 

flie 
VVc 

witl 
Luc 
Mr. 
still 
witl 
idej 
the 
half 
eve 
aris 
Ne^ 
yea 
sho 
mo 
nev 
sufl 
ivh( 
artr 
yea 
beii 
fori 
eve 
oce 
mo 

Joy 

we 
] 

pr^ 
hea 


-^r:^"^r 


1 


This  tifle  of  good  fortune  almost  wiped  away 
tlie  remembraijce  of  three  years  adversity. 
We  began  our  preparations  for  embarkation 
with  alacrity.  Mr,  Johnson  wrote  St.  Luc 
Lucorne,  for  the  seven  hundred  livres,  due  on 
Mr.  Cuyler's  order,  but  his  request  was,  and 
still  is,  unsatisfied.  This  was  a  period  big 
with  every  thing  propitious  and  happy.  The 
idea  of  leaving  a  country  where  I  had  suffered 
the  keenest  distress,  during  twotnonths^and  a 
half  with  the  savages— been  bowed  down  by 
every  mortification  and  insult,  which  could 
arise  from  the  misfortunes  of  my 'husband,  in 
New- England ;  and  where  I  had  spent  two 
years  in  sickness  and  despair,,  in  a  prison  too 
shocking  to  mention,  contributed  to  "fill  the 
moment  with  all  the  happiness,  wliich  the  be- 
nevolent reader  will  conceive  my  due,  aft^r 
sufferings  so  -intense-;  to  consummate  the 
whole,  my  daughter  was  to  be  returned  to  my 
arms,  who  had  been  absent  more  than  two 
years.  There  was  a  good.prospectof  our son*s 
being  released  from  the  Indians ;  the  whole 
formed  such  a  lucky  combination  of  fortunate 
events,  that  the  danger  of  twice  crossing  the 
ocean  to  gmn  our  native  shore,  vanished  in  a 
momeht.  My  lamity  were  all  in  the  same 
joyful  mood,  and  hailed  tlie  kappy  day  when 
we  should  sail  for  i.fi.^land. 

Builiitlc  did  wc  think  that  this  sunshine  of 
prSiperity  wa<i  .o  soon  to  be  darkened  by  the 
heaviest  clouds  oi  misfortune. 


it  1 


*.  ;i 


It 


t\^m/tmv\'s.t 


SPS^^^H^W 


I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  placing  much  de- 
pendence  on  dreams,  but  the  one  I  shall  now 
relate,  has  been  so  completely  followed,  in  the 
course  ol  my  great  misfortune,  I  have  thought 
proper  to  insert  it,  for  the  further  amusement, 
if  not  the  satisfaction,  of  the  reader.     1  tho't 
©ur  friend,  Mr.  Perthieur,  came  with  a  paper 
in  his  hand,  and  delivered  it  to  me.     On  open- 
ing the  paper,  I  found  two  rings,  the  one  a 
very  veautiful  gold  dress  ring,  the  other  a 
mourning  ring,  which  were  presents  sent,  as 
he  sAid,  to  me.     In  putting  the  dress  ring  on 
my  finger  1  broke  it  into  many  pieces,  and  it 
fell  down,   and  I  could  not  find  the  pieces 
again.     The  mourning  ring  I  kept  whole,  and 
put  it  on  my  finger.     But  when  I  awoke,  be- 
hold,  it  was  a  dream.     I  informed  my  hus- 
band  of  it  in  the  morning,  and  said  to  bim,  I 
much  fear  some  further  misfortune  will  hap- 
pen to  us.     While  1  was  in  the  civil  jail  this 
dream  occurred,  and  whether  it  was  a  prelude 
to  what  follows,  the  reader  will  judge  for  him- 

Three  days  before  the  appointed  hour  for 
sailiu'',  the  ship  came  down  from  Montreal, 
without  my  daughter;  in  a  few  moments  I 
met  Mr.  Perthieur,  who  told  me  that  counter 
orders  had  come,  and  Mr.  Johnson  must  be 
retained  a  prisoner  ;  only  my  two  little  daugh- 
ters,  bister  and  myself  could  go.  This  was 
calamity  indeed ;  to  attempt  such  a  long,  v^x- 
riftome  voy  \gc,  without  money  an^  without 


■St.--. 


much  de. 

shall  now 
ved, in  the 
e  thought 
nusement, 
r.  1  tho't 
iih  a  paper 

On  open- 
the  one  a 
he  other  a 
ts  sent,  as 
ess  ring  on 
:es,  and  it 
the  pieces 
whole,  and 
awoke,  he- 
ld my  hus- 
1  to  him,  I 
!  will  hap- 
ivil  jail  this 
s  a  prelude 
ge  for  him- 

ed  hour  for 
L  Montreal, 
moments  I 
that  counter 
on  must  be 
little  daugh- 
,  This  was 
a  long,  V.  vA- 
and  without 


«7 


acquaintance,  and  to  leave  a  husband  and  two 
children  in  the  hands  of  enemies,  was  top  ab- 
horrent for  reflection.  But  it  was  an  nffliir  of 
importance,  and  required  weighty  considera- 
tion. Accordingly  the  next  day  a  solemn 
council  of  all  the  prisoners  in  the  city  was  held 
at  the  coffee-house.— Col.  Schuyler  was  pres- 
ident, and  after  numerous  arguments  for  and 
against  were  heard,  it  was  vqted,  bv  a  large 
majority,  that  I  should  go  — I,  with  hesitation, 
^gave  my  consent,  borne,  perhaps,  will  cen- 
sure the  measure  as  rash,  and  others  may  ap- 
plaud  my  courage ;  but  I  had  so  long  been  ac- 
customed to  danger  and  distress,  in  the  most 
menacing  forms  they  could  assume,  that  I  was 
now  almost  insensible  to  their  threats ;  and 
this  act  was  not  a  little  biassed  by  desperation. 
Life  could  no  longer  retain  its  value,  if  linger- 
ed out  in  the  inimical  regions  of  Canada.  In 
Europe  I  should,  at  least,  find  friends,  if  not 
acquaintance  ;  and  among  t\\e  numerous  ves- 
sels bound  to  America  I  might  chance  to  get 
a  pAssiige.  But  then,  to  leave  a  tender  hus- 
band, who  had  so  long,  at  the  hazard  ctt*  his 
life,  preserved  ray  own  ;  to  part,  pei  haps  for- 
ever, from  two  children,  put  all  my  resolution 
to  the  test,  and  shook  my  boasted  firmness. 

Col.  Schuyler,  whom  we  ever  found  our 
benevolent  friend,  promised  to  use  his  influ- 
ence for  Mr.  Johnson's  release,  and  for  the  re- 
demption of  our  children. 

On  the  20th  of  July,  we  went  on  board  the 


I 


-Kiii.'^titi\j^ljfitjMt,,ii\!ii,  irif[\^^^ 


98 

Tcssel,  accompanied   by  Mr.  Johnson,  ^  who 
went  with  us  to  take  leave.    We  were  intro- 
duced  to  the  Caj^ain,  who  was  a  gentleman, 
and  a  person  of  great   civility  ;  he  shewed  us 
the  best  cabin,  which    was  to  be  the  place   of 
our  residence,  &  after  promising  my  husband 
that  the  voyage  should  be  made   as  agreeable 
to  me  as  possible,  he  gave  orders  for  weighing 
anchor.     The  time  was  now    come   that  we 
must  part— Mr.    Johnson    took   me    by  the 
hand— our  tears  imposed  silence— I   saw  him 
step  into  the  barge  ;  but  my    two  little  child- 
ren, sister  and  myself  were  bound  for  Europe. 
We  fell  down  the  river  St.  Lawrence  but« 
small  distance  that  night.    The  next  morning, 
the  Captain,   witli   a   cheerful    countenance, 
came  to  our  cabin,  and  irivlted  us  to  rise  and 
take  our  leave    of  Quebec  ;  none  but   myself 
complied,  and  I  gazed,  as  long  as  sight  would 
permit,  at  the  place  where  I  had  left  roy  dear- 
est friend. 


%' 


^intfufrnmrnisi 


n,   who 
e  intro- 
itleman, 
ewed  us 
)lace   of 
husband 
greeable 
veighing 
that  wie 
:    by  the 
saw  him 
tie  child- 
Europe, 
ice  but  a 
morning, 
ntenance, 
>  rise  and 
t   myself 
;ht  would 
my  dear- 


99 
CHAP.  IX. 

Foufjgi  to  Plymouth,^Occtirrences.—Saiting: 
from  Plymouth  to  Portsmouth  J rom  thence 
by  thg  Wiiy  of  Cork  to  New-  York. 

All  my  fears  and  afflictioa   did  not   prevent 
my  feeling   some  little  joy  at   being  released 
from  the  jurisdiction  of  Frenchmen.     I  could 
pardon  the  Indians^  for  their  vindictive  spirit, 
because  they  had   no  claim  to  the  benefits  ot 
civilization.     But  the  French,  who   give  Ics- 
soi\s  of  politeness,  to  the  rest  of  the    world, 
can  derive  no  advantage  from  the  plea  of  igno- 
rance.    The  blind  superstition  which  is  incul- 
cated by  their  monks  and  friars,  doubtless  sti- 
fles, in  some  measure,  the  exertion   of  pity  to- 
wards their  enemies  ;  and  the    common  herd, 
which  in'  udes   almost    seven    eights  of  their 
number,  u.vc  no  advantages  from   education. 
To  these  s;)urces  I  attribute  most  of  my  suffer- 
ings.    But  I  found   some  benevolent  friends, 
whose  generosity  I  shall  ever  recollect  with  the 
warmest  graticude. 

The  commencement  of  the  voyage  had  eve- 
ry  flworable  presage  ;  the  weather  was  fine, 
the  sailors  cheerful,  and  the  ship  in  good  trim. 
My  accommodations  in  the  Captain's  family 
were  very  commodious  ;  a  boy  was  allowed 
ne>  for  my  particular  use.    We   sailed  with 


ti^ittasamuam 


WH"W 


100 

excellent  fortune  till  the  19ih  of  August,  when 
wc  hove  m  sight  of  old  Plymouth,  and  at  4 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  dropped  anchor. 

The  next  day  all  but  myself  and  family 
were  taken  from'lhe  vessel  ;  wc  felt  great  anxi- 
ety  at  being  left,  and  began  to  fear  that  fortune 
was  not  willing  to  smile  on  us,  even  on  these 
shores  ;  we  waited  in  despair  thirty  or  forty 
hours,  and  found  no  relife.  The  Captain  ob- 
serving our  despondency,  began  his  airs  of 
gaiety  to  cheer  us  ;  he  iissured  us  that  we 
should  not  suffer— that  if  the  English  would 
not  receive  us,  he  would  take  us  to  France  and 
make  us  huppy.  But  at  last  an  officer  came  on 
ooard,  to  see  if  tVe  vessel  was  prepared  for  the 
iGctption  of  French  prisoners.  We  rtlatcd 
to  him  our  s'tuation  ;  he  conducted  us  on 
shore,  and  applied  to  tr.c  Admiral  for  dircc- 
lions—who  ordered  us  lodginpsand  the  King's 
allowance  of  two  shillings  sterling  per  day,  for 
oar  support.  Fortunately  we  were  Iodised  in 
a  hous-  where  resided  Captain  John  Tufton 
Mason,  whose  name  will  be  familiar  to  the  in- 
habitants  of  New- Hampshire,  on  accoimt  of 
his  patent.  He  very  kindly  interested  himself 
in  our  favour,  and  wrote  to  Messrs  Ihomlin- 
,  son  and  Apthorp,  agents  at  London  for  the 
Province  of  New-Hampshirc,  soliciting  their 
assistance  in  my  behalf.  We  tarried  at  Plym- 
cuth  but  a  fortnight,  during  which  time  I  re- 
ccivcd  much  attention,  and  had  to  gratify  ma- 


n 
s 

P 
Y 

r 

< 

t 

t 
1 

I 


''•in, 


-*»m 


:,  wlien 
nd  at  4 

family 

It  nnxi- 

fortune 

n  these 

r   forty 

ain  ob' 

\irs    of 

>at    we 

would 

iicc  and 

amc  on 

for  the 

rtlatcd 

us  on 

djrcc. 

King's 

lay,  for 

Jt^ed  in 

Tu  fton 

the  in- 

vmt   of 

himself 

lomlin- 

for    the 

ip  their 

;  Plym- 

no  I  re- 

ify  ma- 


,t 


f 


101 

ny  inquisitive  friends  with  the  hibtory   of  my 
sufferings.  , 

There  was  one  little  circumstance  that  tooK 
place  while  we  were  at  Plymouth,  which,  per- 
haps, will  be  pleasing  to  some  of  my  young 
readers.      My  little  daughter,  Captive,  had 
completely  acquired  the  French  tongue,  so  as 
'to  bci  very  pert  and  talkative  in   it,  but  she 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English.     She  had 
been  accustomed,  at  Quebec,  to  go  to  mar- 
ket, or  any  where  among  the  shops,  just  as  she 
pleased,  to  buy  biscuit,   gingerbread,  or  any 
such  thing  that  she  wanted ;  and  although  sha 
used  to  carry  her  money  to  pay  for  whatever 
she  bought,  yet  she  generally  brought  it  back 
again,  and  sometimes  more  with  it.   Of  course, 
she  grew  very  bold ;  for  as  she  knew  nothing 
of  danger,  so  she  feared  nothing  ;  and  although 
the  sentinels  would  sometimes  use  very  rough 
language  to  her,  and  threaten  to  run  her  thro^ 
with  the  bayonet,  yet  she  could  return  the 
same  language  to  them,  andas  they  never  had 
hurt  her,  so  she   did   not  believe   they  ever 
would  ;  and,  being  lawless,   she  went  where 
she  had  a  mind  to.     Polly,  remembering  the 
Engftsh  tongue,  never  obtained  the  French  so 
as  to  speak  it  fluently.     After  we  had  taken 
lodgings  at  Plymouth,  Captive  appeared  to  be 
very   much  put  out  because  she  could  not 
make  the  English  understand  her ;  nor  could 
she  any  better  understand  them  ;  and  she  im« 
puted  it  altogether  to  their  ignorance  and  im- 


SSfeA 


B«a 


■iPHMpnai 


^9^*. 


perlincnce.  The  lady  of  the  house  gave  Polly 
a  biscuit,  wliich  bcinj;  observed  by  Captive, 
she  wanted  one  also.  Polly  (offered  her  part 
of  hers,  but  she  would  not  touch  it,  she  want. 
cd  a  whole  one,  but  could  not  make  her  want 
known.  The  lady  offered  her  other  things, 
which  only  vexed  her.  Being  very  much  fa. 
tigucd  and  unwell,  I  had  laid  down  in  my 
ciiamber,  in  order  to  get  some  rest,  when  my 
little  Captive  came  up  l«  me  with  this  bitter 
complaint,  and  said  the  lady  was  the  most  //«• 
perunoit  woman  she  ever  saw.  She  had  giv- 
en  Polly  a  biscuit  and  had  not  given  her  any, 
and  wheu  she  asked  her  for  one  she  would  of- 
fer her  something  eh^e.  Why,  my  dear,  said 
I,  you  are  a  little  French  girl,  and  these  are 
English  people  ;  the  lady  did  not  understand 
you  ;  they  do  not  talk  here  as  they  do  in  Que- 
bee.  But  Captive  was  very  much  vexed,  and 
had  much  to  say,  which  I  think  not  proper  to 
recite,  and  finally  concluded  by  saying  she 
would  ^o  to  market  and  buy  some  biscuit 
for  herself.  Why,  my  child,  continued  I,  you 
<',annot  find  the  market  here,  you  w  ill  get  lost, 
or  the  market  women  will  take  you  ani^pcarry 
you  off  and  sell  you,  and  I  never  shall  see  you 
■  again  And  with  this  conversation  I  jacified 
her,  as  I  supposed,  and  fell  asleep.  When  I 
awoke,  not  observing  her  immediately,  I  en- 
quired, '*  Where  is  my  Captive  ?"  1  do  not 
know,  said  Polly,  she  came  down  stairs  a  little 
'vhilv  ago,  «nd  said  she  would  go  to  market, 


bv 
se 
sa 
is 

lit 

as 
m 
nc 
he 
Fi 
e^ 
h< 
w 
Ic 
b< 
Ik 
se 
th 
cs 
ec 
ec 
d( 
ai 
w 
h( 
fc 
b; 
si 
hi 
ti 
b 


10.1 


avc  Polly 
Captive, 
her  pi\rt 
ihe  want- 
her  want 
r  things, 
much  la. 
n  in  my 
when  my 
this  bitter 
most  im- 
had  giv- 
»  her  any, 
would  of- 
lear,  said 
these  are 
lulerstand 

0  in  Que- 
exed, and 
proper  to 
lying  she 
tie  biscuit 
jedI,you 
il  get  lost, 
an(^carry 
!1  see  you 

1  jacified 
When  I 

cly,  I  en- 

i  do  not 

lirs  a  little 

0  market, 


bnf  I  told  her  she  must  not,  and  I  have  not 
seen  her  since.  "  The  Lord  have  mercy," 
said  I,  ••  she  is  f^one,  and  sli€  will  be  lost,  il  she 
is  not  saught  alter  immediately."  On  cnqui- 
ry  of  a  market  woman,  she  said  she  had  seen  a 
little  girl,  in  a  very  singular  dress,  such  an  one 
as  she  had  never  seen  i)cfore,  almost  half  a 
mile  off;  she  spoke  to  her,  but  she  gave  her 
no  answer.  I  immediately  sent  a  servant  after 
her.  hhc  was  complciely  dressed  in  the 
French  fashion,  which  attr.icted  the  notice  of 
every  one  that  saw  her.  The  servant  found 
her  returning  home.  She  hud  got  her  mauslium 
which  is  a  liitle  sack  or  bag  hanging  from  the 
left  shoulder,  full  of  biscuit,  and  appeared  to 
be  very  happy  until  the  servant  met  her.  But 
her  joy  was  soon  turned  into  sorrow  1  The 
servant  attempted  to  carry  her;  and  she, 
thinking  it  was  somebody  that  had  come  to 
carry  her  off,  as  I  told  her  they  would,  scream- 
ed, scratched  and  bit,  till  his  face  was  besmear- 
ed with  blood,  and  he  was  glad  to  put  her 
down.  Then  she  ran  to  get  away  from  him, 
and  fell  down  in  the  streets  till  her  clothes 
were  all  besmeared  with  mud  and  water.  But 
he  kept  watch  of  her,  and  headed  her  when  he 
found  she  was  going  wrong,  until  he  got  her 
back.  And  in  a  sad  plight  they  appeared ; 
she.  was  covered  with  mud  and  water,  (as  it 
had  lately  rained,  and  she  had  fallen  several 
times  in  the  gutters  of  the  streets)  and  he  was 
besmeared  with  blood.     But  after  she  got  over 


!■ 


lOi 


;■-■ 
J. 


her  fright  so  as  to  give  a  history  of  her  adteir- 
ture,  it  was  amusing  indeed.     She  waited  till' 
she  found  I  was  asleep,  when  she  crept  slyly 
to  the  bed,  and  took  some  coppers  out  of  my 
pocket  that  hung  by  the  head  of  my  bed,  and 
off  she  started.     She  went  into  a  number  of 
shops,  but  she  saw  no  biscuit,  neither  could 
she  understand  a  word  that  any  of  them  said. 
But  she  concluded  they  were  all  impertinent 
creatures,  and  so  passed  on  ;  till  at  length  she 
came  to  a  house  where  she  saw  the  door  was 
open  and  the  ladies  were  drinking  tea.     She 
went  in,  and  saw  biscuit,  which  was  the  thmg 
she  was  after,  on  the  table.     She  threw  down 
her  money  upon  the  table  and  took  her  hand, 
full  of  Liscuii,  and  went  out.    The  ladies  fol- 
lowed her,  and  came  out  gabbling  round  her, 
blub,  litby  tub,  /lib,  but  she  could  not  tell  a  word 
they  said.     They  however  filled  her  bag  with 
biscuit,  which  was  all  that  she  wanttd,   and 
she   set  out  for  home,  feeling  as  happy   as 
any  little  creature  could  well  be,  until  she  met 
the  servant  before  mentioned. 

But  if  the  reader  has  been  sufficiently  amus- 
ed with  little  history,  he  will  now  be  kind 
enough  to  proceed  with  me  in  my  narrative. 

Capt.  Mason  procured  uie  a  passage  to 
Portsmouth,  in  the  Rainbow  man  of  war,  from 
whence  I  wiis  to  take  passage  in  a  packet  for 
America.  Just  as  I  stepped  on  board  the 
Rainbow,  a  good  lady,  with  her  son,  came  to 
make  me  a  visit ;  her  cariosity  to  see  a  person 


ofm 
on  r 
tills 

JU^l 

tlie( 

gavt 

ter, 

]i;tl« 

pad 

not 

in  in 

\ 
friei 
thoi 
slioi 
ing 
dur 
ves! 
fror 
sidi 
reac 

\ 
the 
the 
rec< 


I 

fro! 
Th 
wit 


I 


105 


her  adf  eiT- 
waited  till' 
srept  slyly 

out  of  my 
ly  bed,  and 
lumber  of 
ther  could 
them  said, 
mpertincnt 
length  she 
;  door  was 

tea.  She 
3  the  thing 
hrew  down 
k,  her  hand, 
:  ladies  fol* 
round  her, 
tell  a  word 
er  bag  with 
anttd,  and 
i  happy  as 
nil  she  met 

ently  amus- 
>w  be  kind 
narrative, 
passage  to 
af  war,  from 
a  packet  for 
board  the 
an,  came  to 
see  a  person 


I 


of  my  description  was  not  abated  by  ray  being 
on  my  passage  ;  she  said  she  could  not  sleep 
till  she  had  seen  the  person  who  had  sufFtred 
fU^h  hard  fortune.  After  she  liod  asked  aU 
the  questions  that  time  would  allow  of,  she 
gave  me  a  guinea,  and  half  a  guinea  to  my  sis- 
ter, and  a  muslin  handkerchief  to  each  of  out 
li:  tie  girls.  On  our  arrival  at  Portsmouth,  the 
packtt  had  sailed ;  the  Captain  of  the  Riinbow, 
not  finding  it  convenient  to  keep  us  with  him, 
introduced  us  on  board  the  Royal  Ann. 

Wherever  we  lived,  we  found  the  best 
friends  and  the  politest  treatment.— It  will  be 
thought  singular,  that  a  defenceless  woman 
should  suffer  so  many  changes,  withotit  meet- 
ing  some  insuits.  and  ma  ly  inciviliiies.  But 
during  my  long  resic^enee  on  board  the  various 
vessels,  1  received  ihe  most  delicate  attention 
from  my  companions.  The  oRiccrs  ucre  as- 
siduous  in  wakieg  my  hiuiation agreeable,  and 
readilv  prollered their  services. 

While  on  board  the  Royal  Ann,  I  received 
the  following  letters  ;  the  reader  will  excuse 
the  recitation  ;  it  would  be  ingratitude  not  to 
record  such  conspicuous  acts  of  benevolence. 

Pll'mouth,  Sift.  13,  1757. 

Mad  A    , 

Late  last  post  night    I  received  an  answer 

froivi  Mr.  Apthorp,  who  is  partner  with  Mr. 

Thomlinson,  the  agent    for   New. Hampshire, 

with  a  letter  enclosed  to  you,  which  gave  you 


106 


fiberty  to  draw  on  him  for  fifteen  guineas.  A& 
Madam  Hornech  was  just  closing  her  kiter  to 
you,  I  gave  it  her,  to  enclose  for  you  ;  I  now- 
writeagainto  London  on  your  behalf.  Yoii 
must  immediately  write  Mr.  Apthorp,  what 
you  intend  to  do,  and  what  further  you  would 
have  him  and  our  friends  at  London  do  for  you. 
I  hope  you  have  received  the  benefaction  of 
the  charitable  ladies  in  this  town.  All  friends 
here  commiserate  your  misfortunes,  and  vvish 
you  well,  together  with  your  sister  and   child- 

•CHi 

Your  friend  and  countryman  to  serve. 
JOHN  T.MASON. 

Mrs.  JOHKSON 

London,  Sept.  %  1757. 

Madam, 

I  received  a  letter  from  Capt.  Mason,  dated 

the  thirtieth  of  last  month,  giving  an  account 

•of  your  unfortunate  situation,    and    yesterday 

Mr.  Thomlinson,    who  is  ill  in  the    country , 

sent  me  your   letter,  together  with  Capt.  Ma- 

son's  to  him,  with  the  pipers  relative  to  you. 

In  consequence  of  which,  I  this  day  applied  to 

a  number  of  gentlemen  in  your    behalf,    who 

very  readily  gave    their  assistance  ;  but  as  I 

am  a  stranger  to  the  steps  you  intend  to  pursue, 

I  can  only  give  you  liberty,  at  present,  to  draw 

on  me  for  ten  or  fifteen,  guineas,    for    which 

sum  your  bill    shall    be  paid,    and  when  you 

futnish   me    with    information,  I  shall    very 


^!iMak^^ 


lineas.  A& 
ber  kiter  to 
rou  ;  I  now 
:half.  Yoii 
thorp,  what 
you  would 
I'do  for  you. 
^nefaPtion  of 

All  friends 
s,  and  wish 

and    child - 

lan  to  serve. 
^ASON. 


%,  1757. 

Vlason,  dated 
5  an  account 
d  yesterday 
he  country, 
:h  tapt.  Ma- 
iitive  to  you. 
ay  applied  to 
behalf,  who 
:e  ;  but  as  I 
nd  to  pursue, 
sent,  to  draw 
,  for  which 
nd  when  you 
I  shall    very 


1«T 

tiheeifuUy  give  any  furtherance  in  my  -power, 
to  your  reUef,when  1  shall  also  send  you  a  hst  of 
your  benefactors. 
I  am,  Madam, 

YouT  most  humble  servant, 

JOHN  AP THORP. 
Mrs.  Susannah  Johnson. 

LETTER  FROM  H.   GROVE^ 

1  have  now  the  pleasure  to    let   dear  Mrs. 

Johnson  know  the  goodness  of  Mrs.  Hornech  ; 

she  has  collected   seven    pounds  for  you,  and 

sent  it  to  Mrs.  Brett,   who  lives  in  the  yard  at 

Portsmouth,  to  beg  her   favours    to  you,    m 

any  thing  she  can  do   to   help  or  assist  you. 

She  is  a  good  lady  ;  do  go  to  her,  and  let  her 

know  your  distress.     C apt.  Mason    has  got  a 

letter  this  post,  but  heis  not  at  home  ;  cannot 

tell  you  further.     You  will  excuse  this  scrawl, 

likewise  tfty  not  enlarging— as   Mr.  Hornecli 

waits  to  send  it   away.     Only   believe   me, 

midam,  you  have  my  earnest  prayers  to  God, 

to  help  and   assist  y6u.     My  mama's  comph- 

ments  with    mine,    and  begs  to  wait  on  you, 

and  believe  me,  dear  Mrs.  Johnson,  yours  ift 

all  events  to  serve  you.  ,,„ 

^  HANNAH  GROVE. 

Sunday  Eve,  10  o*clock. 

I  receivedthe  donation,  and  Mr.  Apthorp 
sent  me   the   afteen  goineas.    I  sincerely  la- 


1^,' 


"-^mSuSf 


1 1  TP|tiWfi-—lfir.WJ 


wjapf^l^H*:gi."i"fc^'-jMft-ij>-ilfe  >■ 


:"■ 


,1 


1D8 

ment  tiiat  heomhted  sending  me  the  names  of 
aiy  benefactors. 

The  Captain  of  the  Royal   Ann,  supposing 
my  situation  with  him,  might  not  be  so  con- 
venient, applied  to  the  m.iyor,  for    a    permit 
for  me  to  take  lodgings  in  the  city,  which  was 
granted.     I  took  new  lodgings,  where  I  tarried 
three  or  four  days  when    orders   came  for  me 
te  be  on    board  the  <Jrange  man    of  war,  in 
three  hours,  which  was   to  sail  for    America. 
We  made  all  possible  dispatch,  but  when    we 
got  to  the  shore,  we  were  astonished  to  find 
the  ship  too  far  under  way  to  be  overtaken. 
No  time  was  to  be  lost,  I  applied  to  a  water- 
man, to  carry  us  to  a  merchantman,  who  was 
weighing  anchor  at  a  distance,  to  go  in  the 
same  fleet.     He  hesitated  long  enough  to  pro. 
Ill  uncea  chapter  of  oaths,  and  rowed  us  oft*. 
When  we  came  to  the  vessel,  I  petitioned  the 
Captain  to  take  us  on  board,  till  he  overtook 
the  Orange.     He  directly  flew  into  a  violent 
passion,  and  ofitrcd  greater  insults  tlian  I  had 
ever  received  during  my  whole  voyage ;    he 
swore  we  were  women   of  bad  fame,   who 
wished  to  follow  the  army,  and  that  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  us.     I  begged  him 
to  calm  his  rage,  and  we  would  convince  him 
of  his  error.     But,  fortunately,  the  victualler 
of  the  fleet  happened  to  be  in  the  ship,  who  at 
this  moment  stepped  forward  mth  his  roll  of 
names,  and  told  the   outrageous  Captain  that 
he  would  soon  convince  him,  whether  we  dc- 


iSlSmi 


le  the  names  of 

iknn,  supposing 
lot  be  so  con- 
fer   a    permit 
ity,  wliich  was 
wiiere  I  tarried 
s    came  for  me 
lan    of  war,  in 
for    America, 
but  when    we 
tnished  to  'find 
be  overtaken, 
ed  to  a  water- 
:man.  who  was 
to  go  in  the 
inough  to  pro. 
rowed  us  oft*, 
petitioned  the 
ill  he  overtook 
into  a  violent 
ilts  tlian  I  had 

2  voyapje ;  he 
d  fame,  who 
I  that  he  would 
I  begged  him 
convince  him 
the  victualler 

3  ship,  who  at 
:ith  his  roll  of 
i  Captain  that 
hether  we  dc- 


109 

served  notice,  by  searching  his  list.  He 
soon  found  our  names,  and  the  Captain  began 
to  beg  pardon.  He  took  us  on  board,  and 
apologized  for  his  rudeness.  We  sailed  with 
a  fair  wind  for  Cork,  where  the  fleet  took  pro- 
vision. We  tarried  a  fortnight  in  this  place, 
during  which  time  the  Captain  of  the  Orange 
came  on  board  to  sec  me,  and  to  offer  me  a 
birth  in  his  vessel ;  but  that  being  a  battle 
ship,  it  was  thought  best  for  me  to  stay  where 
I  then  was.  After  weighing  anchor  at  Cork, 
we  had  a  passage  of  seven  weeks,  remarkably 
pleasant,  to  New- York.  On  the  tenth  of  De- 
cember we  dropped  anchor  at  Sandy  Hook ; 
on  the  eleventh,  I  had  the  supreme  felicity  to 
find  myself  on  shore  in  my  native  country, 
after  an  absence  of  three  years,  three  months, 
and  eleven  days. 


K 


f 


►  4 


!  i\ 


110 


.CHAP.  X. 


77ie  History  cuds. 

i  MIGHT  descant  for  many  a  page  on  the 
felicity  I  felt  on  being  once  more  in  my  ©wn 
4:ountry  ;  but  others  can  guess  my  feelings 
better  than  I  can  tell  them.  The  Mayor  of 
New  York  ordered  lodgings  for  us;  here  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  my  friend,  Col; 
Schuyler,  who  gave  me  much  information 
about  affairs  in  Canada ;  he  told  me  that  my 
husband  had  been  released,  and  taken  passage 
in  a  cartel  ship  for  Halifax,  and  that  he  had  re- 
deemed my  son  from  the  Indians,  for  the  sum 
of  five  hundred  livres. 

My  fellow  prisoner,  Labarree,  had  made 
his  escape  from  ihe  French,  and  had  been  in 
New- York  a  few  days  before,  on  his  way 
home. 

'1  he  reader  may  reasonably  suppose  that  a 
more  than  ordinary  friendship  might  subsist 
between  us  on  account  of  his  preserving  the 
life  of  my  infant,  and  rendering  every  assist- 
ance,  which  it  was  in  his  power  to  perform  for 
us,  on  our  journey  through  the  wilderness. 
Mr.  Labarree  resided  in  Charlestown  about 
two  miles  from  where  I  lived.  We  often  vis- 
ited each  other  after  our  return,  and  frequently 
amused  ourselves  in  the  recollection  of  our 


-^^sasBss- 


J 


^tmmifm9m*0*inl$ 


page  on  the 
in  my  ©wn 
ray  feelings 
ic  Mayor  of 
us ;  here  I 
■fiend,  Col; 
information 
me  that  my 
ken  passage 
t  he  had  re> 
for  the  sum 

,  had  made 
had  been  in 
an  his  way 

)pose  that  a 
ight  subsist 
jserving  the 
every  assist^ 
perform  for 
wilderness* 
3town  about 
i^e  often  vis- 
i  frequently 
;tion  of  our 


111 

journey  with  the  Indians.  He  amused  him- 
self much  with  my  daughter  Captive,  in  her 
childhood,  and  was  always  that  benevolent 
friend  through  life,  which  was  so  peculiarly 
manif  sted  on  the  day  and  journey  of  our  cap- 
tivity. It  so  happened  that  my  daughter  was 
in  Charlesiown  at  the  time  of  his  last  sickness 
and  death.  She  visited  him  and  tarried  sever- 
al da>  s ;  and  attended  him  but  only  a  few  days 
before  his  death.  He  often  mentioned  with 
satisfaction  the  peculiar  situation  of  our  cap- 
tivity :  little,  he  said,  did  he  think  that  he  was 
preserving  the  life  of  her  in  his  arms,  (speak- 
ing of  my  daughter)  who  should  be  one  to  at- 
tend  him  in  his  last  days ;  but  that  he  was  hap. 
py  to  have  her  with  him,  for  she  ever  appear- 
ed to  him  almost  as  near  as  one  of  his  own 
children.  Mr,  Labarrcc  was  one  of  those 
good  men  who  feel  for  the  mislortunes  of  oth- 
ers.  He  died  August  3d,  1803,  aged  79 
years. 

We  tarried,  in  New- York  ten  days — then 
took  water  passage  for  New-Haven,  wherel 
iiad  the  good  fortune  to  find  f.  number  of  offi- 
cers who  had  been  stationed  at  Charlestown 
the  preceding  summer,  who  gratified  my  curi- 
osity with  intelligence  respecting  my  relations 
and  friends  in  that  place.  Some  of  these  gen- 
tlemen, among  whom  v/as(.ol.  Whiting,  kind- 
ly undertook  to  assist  us  on  our  journey  home, 
by  the  way  of  Springfield.  At  Hartford  wc 
found  some  gentlemen  who  were  bo'md  for 


'ft: 


r 

.j  . 


•itimmminif  ji'i  ')•    ^11  i'.T' " 


* 


I 


r 


I 


11^ 

Charlcstown ;  they  solicited  my  sister*  to  go 
in  company  with  them,  to  which  she  assented. 
When  within  lialf  a  dozen  miles  of  Spring- 
field, Mr.  Ely,  a  benevolent  Iriend  of  Mr.  John- 
son's, sent  his  two  sons,  with  a  sleigh  to  con- 
vey me  to  his  house,  where  I  proposed  staying 
till  some  of  my  friends  could  hear  of  my  arrt* 
val.  Fortunately,  Mr.  Johnson  about  the 
same  time  arrived  at  Boston,  but  misfortune 
had  not  yet  filled  the  measure  of  his  calamity. 
He  had  no  sooner  landed,  than  he  was  put  un- 
der guard,  on  suspicion  of  not  performing  hb 
duty  in  the  redemption  of  the  Canada  prison- 
ers,  which  suspicion  was  occasioned  by  his 
remissness  in  producing  his  vouchers.  But 
the  following  certificate  procured  his  liberty  : 

This  is  to  certify,  whom  it  may  concern, 
that  the  bearer,  Lieute  lant  James  Johnson,  in- 
Iwbitant  in  the  town  of  Charlestojvn,  in  the 
Province  of  New  Hampshire,  in  New- Eng- 
land ;  who,  together  with  his  family,  were  ta- 
ken by  the  Indians  on  the  30ih  of  August 
1754,  has  ever  since  continued  a  steady  and 
faithful  subject  to  his  Majesty  King  George, 
and  has  used  his  utmost  endeavors  to  redeem 
his  own  family,  and  all  others  belonging  to 
the  Province  aforesaid,  that  were  in  the  hands 
of  the  French  and  Indian,  which   he  cannot 

•  Miss  Miriam  Willard  was  afterwards  married  to 
tj»e  Rev.  Mr.  NVhitney,  of  Shirley,  Massachusetts. 


y 
f 

a 
i 

c 
r 
\\ 

d 
a 
r 


( 

ll 
1: 
a 
Jl 

t( 

\ 

s 

,h 

XI 

e 


ster*  to  go 
e  assented* 
of  Spring- 
Mr.  John- 
igh  to  con- 
sed  staying 
of  my  arri- 
about  the 
misfortune 
s  calamity, 
'as  put  un- 
brming  hb 
ida  prison- 
led  by  his 
liers.  But 
lis  liberty  : 

r  concern, 
shnson, in- 
vn,  in  the 
Ncw-Eng- 
y,  were  ta- 
of  August 
steady  and 
»g  George, 
to  redeem 
ionging  to 
1  the  hands 
he  cannot 

s  married  to 
:huseUs. 


115 

yet  accomplish ;  and  that  both  himself  and 
family  have  undergone  innumerable  hardships 
and  affliction  since  they  have  been  prisoners 
in  Canada. 

In  testimony  of  which,  we  the  subscribers, 
officers  in  his  Britannic  Majesty's  service,  and 
now  prisoners  of  war  at  Quebec,  have  thought 
it  nccessi\ry  to  ?;rant  him  this  certificate,  and 
do  recommend  him  as  an  object  worthy  the 
aid  and  compassion  of  every  honest  English- 
man. 

PETER  SCHUYLER, 

ANDREW  WATKINS, 
WILLIAM  MARTIN, 
WILLIAM  PADGETT. 
16,  1757. 


Signed 
Quebec,  Sept* 


To  compensate  him  for  this  misfortune. 
Gov.  Pownal  recommended  a  grant,  which 
the  General  Court  complied  with,  and  gave 
him  one  hundred  dollars  from  the  treasury, 
and  he  was  recorded  a  faithful  subject  of 
King  George. 

After  his  dismission  from  the  guards  in  Bos- 
ton, he  proceeded  directly  for  Charlestown, 
When  within  fifteen  miles  of  Springfield,  he 
was  met  by  a  gentleman  who  had  just  before 
seen  me,  who  gave  him  the  best  news  Ke  could 
,have  heard ;  although  it  was  then  late  at  night, 
he  lost  not  a  moment.  At  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  of  the  first  of  January  1758,  I  again 
embraced  my  dearest  friend— happy  new  year, 

K  2 


"^iP 


i 


ii 


114 

with  pleasure  would  I  describe  my  emotionb 
©r  joy,  could  language  paint  them  sufficiently 
forcible  ;  but  the  feeble  pen  shrinks  from  the 
task. 

Charlestown  was  still  a  frontier  town,  and 
3ufi*ered  from  savage  depredations,  which  ren- 
dered it  an  improper  residence  for  mc  ;  con- 
sequently  I  went  to  Lancaster. 

Mr.  Johnson,  in  a  few  days,  set  out  for 
New- York,  to  adjust  his  Canada  accounts. 
But  on  his  journey  he  was  persuaded  by  Gov. 
Pownal  to  take  a  Captain's  commission,*  and 
join  the  forces  bound  for  Ticonderoga :  where 
he  was  killed  on  the  8th  of  July  following,  in 
the  battle  that  proved  fatal  to  Lord  How,  while 
fighting  for  his  country.    Humanity  will  weep 

*  This  comnussion  was  dated  at  Boston  the  30th  day 
of  March,  in  the  Slst  year  of  the  reign  oT  his  Majesty, 
King  George  the  Second,  A.  D.  1758,  and  commission- 
ed him  to  be  a  Captain  of  a  company  in  the  battalion  of 
lig;ht  infantry  to  be  formed  out  of  the  forces  thtn  raised 
by  the  Governor  for  a  general  inraalon  of  Canada,  com* 
luandcd  by  Cotone!  Oliver  Fattridge. 

When  he  ar.ived  at  fort  Edward*  three  companies 
were  selected  under  the  immeiliate  care  ^d  command 
of  M aj.  H«wks,  and  Capt.  Johnson  was  one  of  them. 
There  were  many  there  of  the  sddiers  who  were  ac* 
quainted  with  Capt.  Johnson,  and  desired  to  be  enrolled 
ih  his  company,  which  was  complied  with.  Deacon 
Thomas  Putnam,  now  of  Charlestown,  enga(^{>d  in  his 
company  §a  a  serjeant,  and  marched  on  with  him  to  Ti> 
conderojja— was  with  him  when  the  battle  began  in 
which  Capt.  Johnson  was  killed,  and  gilies  the  iollowing 
account  of  the  same : 


w 
w 

SI 
SI 

ii 

t 
r 
1 

1 
1 
1 
s 

• 

1 


ism^-j  fa».Y»^~'^.i^.»^-^-^-— -  ^--Y 


7' 


\y  emotionb 
t  sufficiently 
iiks  from  the 

T  town,  and 
,  which  ren- 
ir  mc  i  con- 
set  out  for 
a  accounts, 
[led  by  Gov. 
lission,*  and 
oga :  where 
foHowing,  in 
How,  while 
y  will  weep 

n  the  30th  day 
r  his  Majestyt 
d  commission- 
the  battalion  of 
ces  thtn  raised 
:  Canadai  com* 

ree  companies 
jm6  command 
one  of  then, 
who  'were  ac« 
to  be  enrolled 
rith.  Deacon 
sngagpd  in  his 
rith  him  to  Tt- 
Etlile  began  in 
I  the  iollowing 


with  mc.  The  cup  of  sorrow  was  now  replete 
with  bitter  drops.  All  my  former  miseric* 
were  lost  in  the  affliction  of  a  widow. 

In  October,  1758,  I  was  informed  that  my 
son  Sylvanus  was  at  Northampton,  sick  of  a 
scald.  I  hastened  to  the  place,  and  found  him 
in  a  deplorable  situation  ;  he  was  brought 
there  by  Major  Putnam,  afterwards  Gen.  Put- 
nam,  with  Mrs.  How  and  her  family,  who 
had  returned  from  captivity.  The  town  ol 
Northampton  had  taken  the  charge  of  him-- 
his  situation  was  miserable ;  when  1  found 
him  he  liad  no  recollection  of  me,  but  after 
some  c©nversation,  he  had  some  confused 
ideas  of  me,  but  no  remembrance  of  his  father . 

«  on  the  8th  of  July,  1748,  Capi.  Johnson's  company 
was  oidereti  on  llie  left  wing  of  the  army;    and  we 
arrived    within  gun-shot  of    the    breastwork,    when 
the  enemy  fired  upon  us.     We  in  turn  fired  at  them, 
whenever  we  had  a  chance  to  get  sight  at  their  heads, 
above  the  breastwork,  till  we  had  discharged  a  do.en  or 
.more  shots,  at  which  Ume  ti«.- firing  appeared  to  cease 
on  the  part  of  the  enemy.      Imniediately   the  enemy 
hoisted  a  flag  which  was  supposed  by  Capt  Johnson 
and  others  to  be  a  signal  that  they  wer*  aboiit  to  give 
up  to  our  army.     A  pait  of  his  company  being  sUU  at 
some  distance  to  the  left,  Capt.  Johnson  ordered  me  to 
go  immediately   to   the  left  to  have  those  cease  fir- 
inc.  saying  with  joy,  «'  the  day  (or  battle )  is  ours.      I 
immediately  set  out,  climbing  over  brush,  trees  and 
logs,  laying  8  or  10  feet  from  the  ground.    When  step- 
pine  on  a  tree,  some  rods  distance   from  where  I   left 
Capt.  Johnson,  there  was  a  full  volley  fired  from  the  en- 
emy.    I  escaped  Irom  being  wawded,  a  ball  only  grw 


ii 


I 


■   i 


If 


116 

It  was  four  years  since  I  had  seen  him,  he  was 
then  eleven  years  old  ;  during  his  absence  he 
had  entirely  forgotten  the    Kntjlish    lanLniaRe 
spoke  a  little  broken  French,  but  was  perfect 
in  Indian.     He  had   been   with,  the    savages 
three  years,  and    one  year  with  the  French  ; 
but  his  habits  were  somewhat  Indian:  he  had 
been  with  them  in  their   hiintinpr    excursions, 
and  suffered  numerous    hardships— lie    could 
brandish  a  tomahawk  or   bend  the   bow,    but 
these  habits  wore  off  by    degrees.     I  carried 
him  from  that  place  to  Lancaster,    where  he 
lived  a  few  ycjrs  with  Coh  Aaron  Willard. 

I  lived  in  Lancaster  till  October  1759,  when 
I  returned  to  old  Charlestown.— The  sight  of 

inKmy  hat.  I  lei  myself  c'own  as  soon  as  I  could,  and 
md,  the  best  way  possible  to  escape  their  fire.  I'Zt 
lound  som^  oi  my  companion»  ,h'.t  were  w'  h  cZ. 
Johnson,  who  gave  me  the  melancholy  tiding,  of  hh  be 
ing  shot  ihrouKh  the  head,  and  expired  insfan.Iy  on  ih^ 
»  .0  where  1  left  him.  Hisbody  wis  left  on  the  g-ound! 
b  u  Ins  arms  and  equipage,  together  with  some  of  Ms 
clothing  were  brought  off.  I  was  acquainted  wfth  him 
from  my  youth-knew  him  in  the  fo!n,er  ^v«^  when" 

nsted  TV^^  '"T""^  ^'^  ^^^'^•■^  Hanweli,  Sq! 
posted  at  Lunenburg,  iownsendand  Narragansct  No.  8. 
&c.  He  was  universally  beloved  by  liis  comiMiiiv  «.ui 
equally  lamemcd  at  ui  death  HcZ.ITVoIuTA 
/nend,  and  a  friend  to  his  country-was  of  tLyCuZs 
p  easant  good  hunriored,  y.t  strict  to  obey  his  o.K  S 
see  thut  th.se  under  his  command  did  the  same.  The 
loss  to  h,s  wife  and  family  was  imparablelhs  acquaint! 

Z^^lV^f  ""  '^'',?"'^'*'  <=°'»P»nion.  •  valuabe  mem. 
ber  of  society, .»  well  «s  a  iaithfui  and  vaUant  soldier™ 


my 
tur 
wai 
ual 
air 
Mt 
gai 
de< 
He 
cr, 
sav 
mji 
wh 
wh 
tra 
wa 
tcr 
lef 

CQ\ 

ser 

pie 

on 
Jol 
inj 
wl 
at 

Pc 
Oi 

W£ 

CO 


"°Tiii'i"iiWTBria» 


him,  he  was 
I  absence  he 
li  language, 
was  perfect 
ihe  savages 
he  French  ; 
ian :  he  had 
excursions, 
—he    cotild 

bow,    but 
.     I  carried 

where  he 
Willard. 
1759,  when 
he  sight  of 

s  I  could,  and 
Rn,     1  soon 
e  with  Capt. 
tigs  of  his  be- 
statitly  on  the 
5  tlie  ground, 
some  or  his 
ed  with  him 
war,  when  « 
anweli,  Esq. 
jans'.t  No.  3, 
>m|>aiiy,  and 
the  toldiff't- 
iiy  manners, 
is  orders  and 
same.     'Ihe 
liis  acquaint- 
luable  mem- 
nt  S9ldier.'' 


# 


11*7 


my  former  rcsiilcnre  afforded  a  strange  mijr^ 
ture  ofjoy  and  grief,  while  tht  desolations  of 
war,  and  the  losi  of  a  number  of  dear  and  val- 
uable  friendH,  combined  to  give  the  place  an 
air  of  melancholy.  Soon  after  my  arrival. 
Major  Rogers  returned  from  an  expedition  a- 
gainst  the  village  St.  Francis,  which  he  had 
destroyed  and  killed  most  of  the  inhabitants. 
He  brought  with  him  a  young  Indian  prison, 
cr,  who  stopped  at  my  house,  the  moment  he 
saw  me  he  cried,  my  God,  my  God,  here  is 
my  sister  i  it  was  my  little  brother  Sabatis-, 
who  formerly  used  to  bring  the  cows  for  me, 
when  1  lived  at  my  Indian  masters.  He  wafi 
transported  to  see  me,  and  declared  that  he 
was  still  my  brother,  and  I  must  be  his  sis. 
ter.  Poor  fellow  !  The  fortune  of  war  had 
left  him  without  a  single  relation,  but  with  his 
country's  enemies,  he  could  find  one  who  too 
sensibly  felt  his  miseries;  I  felt  the  purest 
pleasure  in  administering  to  his  comfort. 

I  was  extremely  fortunate  in  receiving  by 
one  of  Major  Rogers's  men,  a  bundle  of  Mr. 
Johnson's  papers,  which  he  found  in  pillag. 
ing  St.  Francis.  The  Indians  took  them 
when  we  were  captivated,  and  they  had  lain 
at  St.  Francis  five  years. 

Sabatis  went  from  Charlestowa  to  Crown- 
Point  with  Major  Rogers.  When  he  got  to 
Otter  Creek,  he  met  my  son  Sylvanus,  who 
was  in  the  army  with  Col.  Willard:  he  re- 
cognized  hiro,  and  clasping  him  in  h'ls  arms, 


i 


t 


I 


I 


IJB  » 

■**  My  God,"  says  he,  **  the  fortune  of  war  !'^ 
—I  shall   ever  remember    this  young  Indian 
with  affection  ;  he  had  a  high  sense  of  honor 
and  good  behaviour,  he  was  affable,  good  na- 
tured  and  polite. 

My  daughter  Susannah  was  still  in  Canada 
—but  as  I  had  the  fullest  assurances  that  ev- 
ery attention  was  paid  to  her  education  and 
welfare  by  her  three  mothers,  I  felt  less  anxi- 
ety than  I  otherwise  might  have  done. 

Every  one  will  imagine  that  I  have  paid 
affliction  her  utmost  demand,  the  pains  of  im- 
prisonment, the  separation  from  my  children, 
the  keen  sorrow  occasioned  by  the  death  of  a 
butchered  father,  and  the  severe  grid  arising 
from  my  husband's  death,  will  amount  to  a 
sum,  perhaps,  unequ.ilkd.  But  still  mv  fam- 
ily must  be  doomed  to  further  and  severe  per- 
secutions,  from  the  savages.  In  the  convr 
mencemtntofthe  summer  of  17C0,  my  broth, 
er  in  law,  Mr.  Joseph  Willard,  son  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Willard  of  Rutland,  who  was  kil- 
led by  the  Indians  in  Lovell's  war,  #ith  his 
wife  and  five  children,  who  lived  but  two 
miles  distant  from  me,  were  taken  by  a  par- 
ty of  Indians.  They  were  carried  much  the 
same  rout  that  I  was  to  Montreal.  Their 
journey  of  fourteen  days  through  the  wilder, 
ness,  was  a  series  of  miseries,  unknown  to 
any  but  those  who  have  suffered  Indian  cap- 
tivity ;  they  lost  two  children,  whose  deaths 
were  owing  to  savage  barbarity.    The    hist- 


'/ 


ory 
owi 
piij 
ang 


bes 


me  of  war  !'^ 
young  Indian 
:nse  of  honor 
ible,  good  na- 

till  in  Canada 
mces  that  ev- 
du  cation  and 
felt  less  anxi- 
done. 

I  have  paid 
I  pains  of  im- 
I  my  children, 
the  death  of  a 
:  griel  arising 
amount  to  a 
still  mv  fam- 
nd  severe  per- 
In  the  conv 
60,  my  broth. 
,  son  of  the 
\ho  was  kil- 
war,  #ith  his 
ived  but  two 
en  by  a  par- 
ted much  the 
ntreal.  Their 
li  the  wilder- 
unknown  to 
1  Indian  cap- 
whose  deaths 
'.    The    hi&t. 


il9      ^       • 

ory  of  their  captivity  would  almost  eqiial  my 
own,  but  the  reader's  commiseration  and 
piiy  must  now  be  exhausted.  No  more  ol 
anguish,  no  more  of  sufferings. 

They  arrived  at  Montreal  a  few  days  before 
the  French  surrendered  it  to  the  English  ;  and 
after  four   months'   absence,   returned  home, 
and   brought  my   daughter  Susanna   to  my 
arms  ;  while  I  rejoiced  at  again  meeting  roy 
child,  whom  I  had  not  seen    for   a|p>ve  five 
vcars,  I  felt  extremely  grateful  to  the  Mrs. 
jaissons,  for  the  affectionate  attention  they  had 
bestowed  on  her.     As  they  had  received  her 
as  their  child,   they  had  made  their  affluent 
fortune  subservient  to  her  best  interest.     To 
give  her  the  accomplishments  of  a  polite  edu- 
cation had  been  their  principal  care,  she  had 
contracted  an   ardent  love  for  them,  which 
never  will  be  obliterated.     Their  parting  was 
an  affectionate  scene  cf  tears.     They  never 
forgot  her  during  their  lives ;    she  has  eight 
letters  from  them,   which  are  proofs  of  the 
warmest  friendship.      My  daughter  did  not 
know  me  at  her  return,  and  spoke  nothing 
but  French ;  my  son  spoke  Indian,  so  that  my 
family  was  a  mixture  of  nations. 

Mr.  Farnsworth,  my  only  fellow  prisoner 
whose  return  1  have  not  mentioned,  came 
home  a  little  before. 

Thus,  by  the  goodness  of  Providence,  we 
all  returned  in  the  course  of  six  painful  years 
to  the  place  from  whence  we  were  taken.  The 


5» 


.,1    H. 


long  period  of  OUT  captivity,  and  the. severity 
of  our  sufferings,  will  be  called  uncommon 
and  ui^recedented.  But  we  even  found  some 
friends  to  pity,  among  our  most  persecuting 
enemies;  and  from  the  various  shapes  in 
which  mankind  appeared,  we  learned  many 
valuable  lessons.  Whether  in  the  wilds  of 
Canada,  the  horrid  jails  of  Quebec,  or  in  our 
voyage  to  Eurc^e,  idaily  occurrences  happen- 
ed to  cqfvince  us  that  the  passions  of  men  are 
as  various  as  their  complexions.  And  aittio' 
my  sufferings  were  often  increased  by  t^e  self- 
ishness of  this  world's  ^irit,  yet  the  nupierous 
testimonies  of  generosity  I  received,  bids  me 
suppress  the  clwrge  of  neglect,  or  want  of  be- 
nevolence. That  I  have  been  an  uhfort^inale 
woman,  all  will  grant ; — yet  my  misfortunes, 
while  they  enriched  my  experience,  and  taught 
me  the  value  of  patience,  have  increased  my 
gratitude  to  the  Author  of  all  blessings,  whose 
goodness  and  mercy  have  preserved  my  life  to 
the  present  tin»e. 

During  the  time  of  my  widowhood,  mis- 
fortune and  dissappointment  were  fny  intimate 
companions.  In  the  settlement  of  my  hus- 
band's estate,  the  delay  and  perplexity  was 
distressing.  I  made  three  journeys  to  Ports- 
mouth, fourteen  to  Boston,  and  three  to 
Springfield,  to  effect  the  settlement.  Whcth. 
er  my  captivity  had  taught  me  to  be  ungrate- 
ful, or  whether  imagination  fof  med  a  catologue 
of  evils,  I  will  not  pretend  to,  say ;   but  from 


thesevftity 
.  uncommon 
;ii  found  some 

persecuting 
us  shapes  in 
learned  many 

the  wilds  of 
Dec,  or  in  our 
ences  happen- 
ns  of  men  are 
And  altho' 
ed  by  i^e  self- 
the  nuinerous 
ived,  bids  me 
>r  want  of  be* 
n  unfortunate 
f  misfortunes, 
ce,  and  taught 
increased  my 
issings,  whose 
vred  my  life  to 

>whood,  mis- 
e  my  intimate 
It  of  my  hus- 
erplexity  was 
neys  to  Ports- 
and  three  to 
mt.  Whcth. 
0  be  ungrate- 
ed  a  catalogue 
ly;   but  from 


*  121 

die  year  1754  to  the  present  day,  greater  mis- 
fortunes have  apparently  fellen  to  my  share 
than  to  mankind  in  general,  and  the  meteor 
happiness  has  eluded  my  grasp.  The  life  of 
a  widow  is  peculiarly  afflictive,— but  my  nu- 
merous and  loigjournies  over  roads  immin- 
ently bad,  and  incidents  that  seemed  to  baffle 
all  my  plans  and  foresight,  render  mine  more 
unfortunate  than  common. 

But  I  found  many  attentive  friends,  whose 
assistance  and  kindness  will  always  claim  my 
gratitude.  Colonel  White  of  Leominster, 
with  whom  I  had  lived  from  the  time  I  was 
eight  years  old  until  I  married,  was  extremely 
affectiopate  and  kind — in  his  house  I  found  a 
welcome  home.  Mr.  Samuel  Ely  of  Spring- 
^eld,  who  was  the  friend  of  my  husband,  ren- 
dered me  numerous  kindnesses.  Colonel 
Murray  of  Rutland,  and  Col.  Chantjler  of 
Worcester,  were  very  friendly  and  kind.  Mr. 
Clarke,  deputy  secretary,  Gov.  Pownall,  and 
Gov.  Wentworth,  exerted  their  influence  for 
ine  in  attempting  to  procure  a  grant  from  the 
general  Assembly. 

In  one  of  my  Joumies  to  Portsmouth,  I  con- 
versed withCapt.  Adams,  who  was  in  Europe 
at  the  time  I  was — he  informed  me  that  while 
there,  Mr.  Apthorp  gave  him  fourteen  pounds 
sterling,  for  the  purpose  of  conveying  m^  and 
my  family  to  America :  my  sailing  with  the 
convoy  prevented  my  receiving  this  kindness. 

.Durk^  ^e  four  years  of  Bfy  widow^ooid  I 


"mum 


I.  ji 


I  LriJ.h>**winiiiiii 


1         ^"i"?'~i'-'-1ii'"i;iTfMr"-^7Tin  -"--■-"—-'■-  > 


I  ! 


I; 


il 


' 


I 


.1^ 

wus  in  quite  an  unsettled  situation  ;  sometimes 
receiving  my  children  who  were  returning 
/rom  captivity,  and  at  others  settling  the  es- 
tate of  my  deceased  husband.  In  October, 
1759, 1  moved  to  CharIesto^yn,  and  took  pos- 
session of  my  patrimony,  consisting  of  a  house 
which  Col.  Whiting  had  generously  assisted 
my  mother  in  building ;  in  copartnership  with 
iny  brother  Moses  Willard,  I  kept  a  small 
store,  which  was  of  service  i;i  supporting  my 
.family,  and  settling  my  husband's  estate.  I 
have  received,  by  petitioning,  f  om  the  Gene- 
ral Assembly  of  New-Haiipshire,  forty  two 
{lounds,  to  indemnify  myself  and  family  for 
osses  sustained  by  our  country's  enemies. 
This  was  of  eminent  service  to  me.  Mr. 
Johnson  left  with  Mr.  Charles  Apthorp,  of 
Boston,  the  sum  which  qny  son's  rcdemptioi) 
cost,  for  Col.  Schuyler,  who  had  paid  the 
^me.  But  the  <jeueral  Assembly  of  Massa- 
chusetts afterwards  paid  Col.  Schuyler  his  de- 
mand for  redeeming  my  sop. 

By  Mr.  Johnson  I  had  seven  children ;  two 
sons  and  a  daughter  died  in  infancy^.  Sylva- 
nus,  with  whom  the  reader  is^cquamted,  now 
lives  in  Charle^town.  Susanna  married  Capt- 
Samuel  Wetherbee,  and  has  been  the  mother 
of  fifteen  children,  among  which  were  five  at 
two  births.  Polly  marri^  Col.  Timothy  Be- 
del, of  Haverhill— died  in  Angustl789.  Cap- 
^ve  married  Col.  George  Kimball 
.JKi  tbe  year  1762  I  marrfed  Mr.  John  HaSn 


til 

CI 

wl 

su 

d( 

1 

so 

ri( 

at 

in 

hi 

fc 

d 

I 

Bl 

b 

Si 

S' 

c 

tl 

h 

t 
fl 
t 
)i 
f 

> 
i 
t 


■■.■■W^|i»WtM|g»|WSWJljllj|.Wft]Jjl»jj|lljf[_  -• 


;  sometimes 
re  returning 
ttling  the  es- 

In  October, 
id  took  pos- 
ig  of  a  house 
usly  assisted 
inersbip  with 
kept  a  small 
pporting  my 
's  estate.  I 
m  the  Gene- 
e,  forty  two 
id  family  for 
f'»  enemies. 
>  me.  Mr. 
Apthorp,  of 

redemption 
ad  paid  the 
ly  of  Massa- 
iiyler  his  de- 

lildren;  two 
icy.  Sylva- 
lamted,  ttow 
tarried  Capt- 
the  mother 
were  five  s^ 
I'imothy  Be- 
1789.  Cap. 
II 
-.  JolmH«Sn 


123 

tings;    he  was  one  of  the  first  settlers  iii 
Charlestown ;    I  recollect  to  have  seen  him 
when  I  visited  the  place  in  the  year  1744— he 
suffered  much  by  the  Indians,  and  assisted  in 
defending  the  town  during  the  wars.     By  him 
I  had  seven  children  ;   one  daughter  and  iour 
sons  died  in  their  infancy.     Theodosia  is  mar- 
ried  to  Mr.  Stephen  Hasham ;    Randilla  died 
at  the  age  of  twenty  two— she  lived  from  her 
infancy  with  Mr.  Samuel  Taylor  of  Hocking- 
ham,  by  whom  she  was  tieated  with  great  a& 
fection.     I  have  had  thirty- eight  grand-chil- 
dren,  and  twenty-eight  great  grand  children. 
I  lived,  till  within  a  few  years,  on  the  same 
spot  where  the  Indians  took  us  from  in  1754i 
but  the  face  of  nature  has  so  changed  that  old 
savage  fears  are  all  banished. 

I  have  lived  to  see  good  days  after  so  man/ 
scenes  of  sorrow  and  affliction  :  I  have  parti- 
cipated  largely  in  the  coniforts  of  life,  although 
the  winter  of  my  life  has  not  been  rendered  so 
happy  as  I  could  have  wished. 

My  whole  life  has  been  a  strange  mix- 
ture .of  good  and  evil,  of  pleasure  and  af- 
fliction, and  1  hope  and  trust  I  have  profited  b)^ 
the  reality,  that  others  may  be  profited  by  the 
history,  which  I  leave  as  a  legacy  to  m|r 
friends,  as  I  am  now  waiting  my  depaVture, 
when  I  hope  to  leave  the  world  in  peace.  My 
vacant  hours  I  have  ofien  employed  in  reflect- 
ing on  the  various  scenes  that  have  marked 
the  different  stages  of  ray  life.     When  view- 


tu 


mg  the  present  rising  generation,  in  tlie  bloom 
of  health,  and  enjoying  those  gay  pleasures 
which  shed  their  exhilarating  influence  so 
plentifully  in  the  morn  of  life,  I  look  back  to 
my  early  days,  when  I  too  was  happy,  and 
basking  in  the  sunshine  of  good  fortune :  Lit- 
tle do  they  think,  that  the  meridian  of  their 
lives  can  possibly  be  rendered  miserable  by 
captivity  or  a  prison  ;  as  little  too  did  I  think 
that  my  gilded  prospects  could  be  obscured  ; 
but  it  was  the  happy  delusion  of  youth,  and  I 
fervently  wish  there  was  no  deception.  But 
that  Being,  who  "sits upon  the  circle  of  the 
earth,  and  views  the  inhabitants  as  grasshop* 
pers,"  allots  our  fortunes. 

Although  I  have  drank  so  largely  from  the 
cup  of  sorrow,  yet  the  many  happy  days  I  have 
seen,  may  be  considered  as  no  small  compcii. 
sation.      Twice  has  mv  country  been  ravaged 
by  war  since  my  remembrance  :  1  have  detail- 
ed the  share  I  bore  in  the  first, — in  the  last,  al. 
th.">ugh  the  place  in  which  I  lived  was  not  a 
field  ot  bloody  battle,  yet  Its  vicinity  to  Ticon- 
dcroga,  and  the  savages  that  ravaged  the  Co- 
os country,  rendered  it  perilous  and  distress- 
ing.    But  now  no  one  can  set  a  higher  value 
on  the  smiles  of  peace,  than  myself.      The 
savages  are  driven  beyond  the  lakes,  and  our 
country  has  no  enemies.     The  gloomy  wilder- 
ness  that  fifty  years  ago  secreted  the  Indian  and 
the  beast  of  prey,  has  vanished  away  ;  and  the 
thrifty  farm  smiles  in  its  stead :  the  Sundays, 


thai 
nov 
hav 
the 
hu£ 
dea 
1 
aro 
the 

ma 

1 

she 

pit 
pa: 
Tl 
un 

ex 

loi 
wi 
wl 
of 

fai 
Ci 

th 
to 
w 
d< 
al 
n 


i    53'^ 


iiilHiijjKlUl'BiilWij 


I2h 


in  tlie  bloom 
jy  pleasures 
nfluence  so 
look  back  to 
happy,  and 
)rtune:  Lil- 
ian of  their 
niserable  by 
>  did  I  think 
;  obscured ; 
i^outh,  and  I 
ption.  But 
Tcle  of  the 
IS  grasshop. 

ly  from  tfic 
days  I  have 
all  compel). 
Jen  ravaged 
have  detaiU 
the  last,  al. 
was  not  a 
'f  to  Ticon- 
;ed  the  Co- 
rtd  distress- 
igher  value 
self.      The 
:s,  and  our 
my  wilder. 
Indian  and 
y ;  and  the 
B  Sundays, 


that  were  then  employed  in  guarding  a  fort,  arc 
now  quietly  devoted  to  worship :  the  toma- 
hawk  and  scalping  knife  have  given  place  to 
thc'plough  share  and  sickle,  and  prosperous 
husbandry  now  thrives,  where  the  terrors  of 
death  once, chilled  us  with  fear. 

My  numerous  progeny  have  often  gathered 
around  me,  to  hear  the  sufferings  once  felt  by 
their  aunt  or  grandmother,  and  wonder  at  thcic 
magnitude. 

My  daughter,  Captive,  still  keeps  the  dress 
she  appeared  in  when  brought  to  my  bed-side 
by  the  French  nurse,  at  the  Ticondcroga  hos-, 
pital ;  and  often  refreshes  my  memory  with 
past  scenes,  when  showing  it  to  her  children. 
These  things  yield  a  kind  of  melancholy  pleas- 
ure. 

Perhaps  the  reader's  patience  is  by  this  time 
exhausted,  and  I  shall  not  detain  him  much 
longer  ;  but  I  cannot  dismiss  the  subject 
without  making  mention  of  some  occurrences 
which  have  taken  place  since  the  first  edition 
of  my  Narrative  was  published. 

In  the  year  1898,  my  daughter  Captive,  and 
family,  removed  to  the  province  of  Lower 
Canada,  which  was  no  small  grief  to  me.  For 
the  space  of  forty  years,  and  upwards,  we  were 
together  on  the  anniversary,  day  of  her  birth, 
which  was  a  great  consolation  to  mtfj  ift  my 
declining  years. — And  even  after  she  was  gone, 
although  the  distance  was  nearly  two  hundred 
miles^  that  anniversary  day  never  parsed  un- 

L  3 


f 


'J 


I 
I 


126 

thought  of  or  unnoticed  by  me,  and  I  presume 
it  never  did  by  her,  as  she  has  oiten  informed 
me  since  her  return.  The  extraordinary  oc- 
currences of  God's  providence  in  preserving 
our  lives  through  the  various  scenes  which  vi'c 
passed  in  her  infancy  and  childhood,  might 
reasonably  be  supposed  to  attach  that  parental 
and  dutiful  affection  to  each  other  which 
could  only  be  extinguished  by  the  extinction 
of  life. 

My  life,  in  many  other  respects,  has  been  a 
scene  of  trouble  and  misfortune  since  I  pub- 
lished my  Narrative  in  1796.  Some  time  in 
October,  in  1801,  I  had  been  on  a  visit  to 
Mr.  Samuel  laylor's  in  Rockingham ;  on  my 
return,  accompanied  by  his  daughter,  at  the 
south  end  of  the  street  in  Charlestown  our 
horse  was  started  by  a  boy,  wheeling  a  load  of 
flax,  which  threw  me  from  the  horse.  The 
violence  of  the  fall  was  so  great,  together 
with  a  wound  cut  deep  in  my  forehead,  that  I 
was  taken  up  for  dead,  or  apparently  senseless, 
by  my  grand-son,  Jason  Wetherbee,  and  car- 
ried  to  the  house  of  Samuel  Stevens,  Esq; 
about  thkty  rods.  Every  aid  and  assistence 
possible  was  made  for  me.  After  my  revival, 
the  wounds  were  dressed ;  the  cut  was  sewed 
up  ^y  Mrs.  Page,  the  wife  of  Capt.  Peter 
Page  of  Charlestown.  In  a  short  time  I  so  far 
recovered  as  to  be  removed  to  my  home, 
which  was  nearly  one  mile.  I  recovered  my 
former  strength  as  soon  as  might  be  expected, 


et 
bi 

C( 

gi 
m 

ol 

at 

re 

fe 

m 

ui 

ir 

e: 

sc 

ft 

ti 

oi 
a 
til 

p; 

b 

oi 
fc 
w 

w 

(^ 

b 
n. 


i^m>$m 


*fm^ 


rsr 


d  I  presume 
en  informed 
ordinary  oc- 
1  preserving 
les  which  we 
hood,  might 
that  parental 
ither  which 
le  extinction 

>,  has  been  a 
tince  I  pub- 
^me  time  in 
n  a  visit  to- 
lam ;  on  my 
hter,  at  the 
lestown  our 
ing  a  load  of 
iorse»  The 
at,  together 
ehead,  that  I 
ly  senseless, 
:e,  and  car- 
:vens,  Esq; 
d  assistence 
my  revival, 
t  was  sewed 
Capt.  Peter 
time  I  so  far 
my  home, 
covered  my 
)e  expected^ 


(•onsidcring  the  badness  of  the  wound  aifd" 
bruises  which  I  received  by  the  fall. 

My  husband,  Mr.  John  Hastings,  with  my 
consent  and  agreement,  had  prior  to  this  time' 
given  our  estate  to  Mr.  Stephen  Hasham,  who 
married  our  only  daughter.  In  consequence 
of  which,  my  life  and  living  were  so  immedi- 
ately  under  his  controul  that  my  situation  was 
rendered  very  unhappy.  But  a  respect  for  the 
feelings  of  the  surviving  relatives  will  prevent 
my  going  into  a  detail  of  my  sufferings,  while 
under  Mr.  Hasham's  roof;  which,  consider- 
ing the  different  treatment  I  had  a  right  to 
expect,  under  the  care  and  protection  of  a 
son-in-law,  I  sometimes  found  almost  as  pain^ 
ful  to  be  borne,  as  my  savage  captivity. 

In  the  spring  of  1803,  my  daughter  Cap> 
tive  came  from  Canada,  with  a  sick  daughter 
of  hers  to  be  doctered,  as  physicians  were  at 
a  great  distance  from  where  she  resided  In 
the  summer  I  made  known  to  her  my  unhap- 
py situation,  a»  did  my  husband  alsoi  hhe, 
by  the  consent  of  m}'  husband,  and  the  advice 
of  some  respectable  friends,  procured  a  home 
for  me  at  Mr.  Jonathan  Baker's,  whose  wife- 
was  daughter  to  my  daugiiter  Wethcrbec, 
where  1  resided  till  February  following ;  when, 
(with  the  assistance  of  Mr  Kimball  and  his 
brother  who  was  in  company  with  him  on  his 
journey  to  remove  his  wife  and  daughter  to 
Canada)  I  was  conveyed  to  Concord  in  Ver- 
mont,  to  Mr,  WetheFbee*^s,  my  son- in  lawj 


^SSSmmiimaamm 


128 

where  I  remained  about  ten  months.  We  had 
intelligence  in  the  early  part  of  November 
that  my  husband  was  very  sick  ;  but  the  sea. 
son  and  badness  of  the  roads  prevented  my 
immediate  return  to  see  him.      He  died  on 

the  21st  day  of  November,  1804,  in  the 

year  of  his  age* 

Jn  the  January  following  I  came  to  Charles- 
town,  when,  by  the  assistance  of  Mr.  Weth- 
erbee  and  others,  I  concluded  a  settlement  with 
Mr.  Hasham,  in  which  1  received  the  ants  of 
certain  pieces  of  land  yearly,  to  continue  dur- 
ing, my  natural  life,  which  is  suiEcient  to  sup- 
port me  comfortably,  end  I  can  expend  it 
where  I  please-  I  made  my  principal  residence 
at  Mrs.  Rice's,  who  is  a  ni«^cc  of  mine,  and 
sometimes  with  Mr.  Wetherbec,  my  grandson, 
and  visited  my  other  relations,  and  was  in  as 
good  health  as  might  be  expected  for  a  per- 
son of  my  years. 

I  would  here  gladly  close  my  narrative,  but 
1  have  one  more  sad  event  to  detail.  In  March, 
1 808,  Mr.  Kimball  and  family  returned  from 
Canada,  and  made  their  residence  in  Langdon, 
adjoining  Charlestown  ;  to  which  place  I  re- 
moved  to  reside  with  them,  where  1  enjoyed 
myself  happily  with  my  daughter  Captive,  and 
her  fiimily,  for  about  eighteen  months ;  some- 
times making  visits  among  my  many  relatives 
and  acquaintances,  as  it  was  convenient.  ^  In 
October,  1809,  for  to  make  it  more  convenient 
for  Mr.  Kimball  to  carry  on  his  mechaniaal 


bu: 
Ch 
qu: 
the 
in  ( 
Sal 
hac 
hoi 
in  \ 
and 
\ip( 
set 
son 
can 
ao, 
thii 
cou 
abo 
er,  1 
und 
froi 
mil 
ver; 
bro 
was 
had 
tak< 
erw 
thu 
ger 
one 
tere 


: 


129 


We  had 
November 
)ut  the  sea> 
vented  my 
He  died  on 
in  the  — — 

to  Charles- 
Mr.  Weth- 
lement  with 
the  tints  of 
ntinue  dur- 
ient  to  sup- 
expend  it 
al  residence 
mine,  and 
y  grandson, 
[1  was  in  as 
1  for  a  per- 

trrative,  but 
In  March, 
turned  from 
nLangdon, 
place  I  re- 
re  I  enjoyed 
[Captive,  and 
iths;  some- 
my  relatives 
renient.     In 
:  convenient 
mechanical 


business,  I  concluded  to  make  a  short  visit  to 
Charlcstown  to  spend  the  winter  at  my  old 
quarters  with  Mrs.  Rice.  Accordingly  on 
the  14th  of  October,  set  out  for  that  purpose, 
in  company  with  Mr.  Kimball  and  Mr,  John 
Sartwcll,  in  whose  waggon  we  all  rode.  We 
had  not  proceeded  far  from  Mr.  Sartwell's 
liouse,  when,  descending  down  a  small  pilch 
in  the  road,  the  staple  drew  out  of  the  yoke, 
and  let  the  spire  drop,  and  the  waggon  pushing 
\ipon  the  horses,  and  striking  their  heels,  soon 
set  them  out  upon  the  run.  The  waggon,  by 
some  means  or  other,  immediately  upset,  and 
came  completely  bottom  up  ;  so  suddenly  al- 
ao,  that  it  caught  all  three  of  us  under  it.  In 
this  situation  we  were  dragged,  as  nearly  as 
could  be  ascertained  afterwards,  by  the  blood, 
about  six  rods;  when,  by  some  cause  or  oth» 
er,  the  wuggon  hoisted  so  as  to  let  us  out  from 
under  it.  The  horses  soon  cleared  themselves 
from  the  waggon,  and  run  about  a  half  a 
mile.  We  were  all,  as  must  be  expected, 
very  much  hurt.  Mr.  Sartwell  had  uo  bones 
broke,  but  was  very  much  bruised,  so  that  he 
was  confined  for  some  time.  Mr.  Kimball 
had  one  shoulder  dislocated,  and  two  fingers 
taken  off  from  his  left  hand,  besides  being  oth- 
erwise bruised.  He  can  now  use  only  his 
thumb  and  little  finger  of  his  left  hand,  the  fin- 
ger next  to  the  little  one  being  stiff.  I  had 
one  ankle  broken  and  the  bone  very  much  shat- 
tered, besides. being  otherwise  bruised.    I  was 


Il 


M 


I 


L^ 


MO 

earrled  back  on  a  bier  to  my  son  Kimball's; 
where  ueboililay  several  weeks,  and  c;  durcd 
much  excruciating  painv  When  I  was  laid  on 
the  beir  to  be  carried  back,  it  brought  fiesh  to 
my  mind  the  bier  that  the-  Indians  made  for 
me  after  the  birth  of  my  daughter  Captive. 
It  was  thought  by  many,  and  1  wascven  appre. 
hcnsivc  myself,  thai  the  pain  I  enduted,  togcth» 
cr  with  ray  age,  would  have  prov  ed  too  hard 
for  me.  But  by  the  blessing  of  God-,  my  life 
is  still  preserved,  and  1  am  once  more  restored 
to  as  comfortable  a  measure  of  health  as  I  can 
expect  with-  my  years.*  I  am  noAv  in  the  win* 
ter  of  life,  and  feci  sensibly  the  effects  of  old 
age.  I  have  removed  b'ck  to  Charlestown, 
as  also  my  daughter  Captive,  and  her  family. 
It  is  a  matter  of  great  consolation  to  me  that  I 
have  it  in  my  power  to  spend  so  much  of  my 
time  with  her  in  my  latter  days.  I  have  had 
many  a  sorrowful  hour  on  her  account,  in  her 
infancy  and  childhood,  and  she  hai,  richly  re- 
paid  them  in  her  tender  affection  to  mc  in  my 
cveoflife^ 

•  Tib  with  satisfVction,  that  1  here  express  my  un- 
feigned thanks  to  Doct.  Kliteiidge  nnd  Doct.  i:arpenter, 
for  their  partitular  atlention  to  mo  during  nay  confine- 
inent.— Also  to  the  Rev.  A.  Kheeland  for  his  prayers, 
and  frequent  visits  cluring  the  same.  It  also  gives  me 
much  satislaction  in  rtfleciing  (;»l'.hough  my  pains  were 
almost  in'.olerable)  thiil  my  daughter  Captive  was  able 
to  attend  me,  which  slic  did  with  her  wonted  cheerful- 
ness, although  many  timts  I  was  fearful  it  might  f  rove 
too  j)ard  for  her  health  and  constitution. 


.?.giiwi 


isx^m 


I 


J 

my 

dea 

go 

ter 

few 

i 
ing 
hav 

< 

N 
aRei 


n  Kimball's; 
nnd  e:  durcd 
I  was  laid  on 
light  fiesh  to 
IS  made  for 
ttcr  Captive, 
seven  appre* 
»ied,  togeth- 
;  ed  too  hard 
God-,  my  life 
nore  restored 
eahh  as  I  can 
w  in  the  win* 
Fects  of  old 
Charlestown, 
i  her  family, 
to  me  that  I 
much  of  my 
I  have  hud 
count,  in  her 
tab  richly  re- 
to  me  in  my 


Kprets  my  un- 
)oc«.  "Carpenter, 
ing  roy  confine* 
for  his  prajerc, 
t  also  gives  me 
1  my  puins  were 
aptivc  was  able 
vonted  cheerfHl- 
it  miglit  fToyt> 


»«IBB 


431 

Instances  of  l>ngevity  are  remnfliable  m 
my  family.  My  aged  mother,  before  her 
death,  could  say  to  mc,  arise  daughter,  and 
go  to  thy  daughter ;  for  thy  daughter's  daugh> 
ter  has  got  a  dau[;Iiter ;  a  command  which 
few  mothers  can  make  and  be  obeyed. 

And  now,  kind  Header,  after  sincerely  wish- 
ing that  your  days  ni(iy  be  as  happv  as  mine 
have  been  unfortunate,  I  bid  you  adieu. 

C/tarteitowrtt  September  10,   1810. 

NoTi.— Mrs.  Johnwn  died  in  November,  1810,  toon 
ader  the  dose  of  the -foregoing  NarraUve. 


Hi 


; 


^  ''ill 


'■  1  'I; 


<!! 


t 


J. 


1S$2 


APPENDIX. 


The   Subject  of  the  foregoing  Narrativ€ 
lived  but  a  short  time  after  the  last  date.    She 
was  very  anxious    to  have  this  work  revised 
and  republished  before  her  death.    She  had 
•several  conversations  with  me  on  the  subject, 
while  she  lived  in  Langdon,  and  wished  me  to 
undertake  the  work,  and  get  the  copy  right  se- 
xjured  to  her  daughter  Captive  (Mrs.  Kim- 
ball); which  I  told  her  I  would  do  if  time  and 
opportunity  would  permit.    But  the  sad  acci- 
dent and  misfortune  she  met  with  soon  after, 
as  has  been  mentioned,  together  with  other 
circumstances,  prevented  its  being  done  at 
that  time.    I  was  in  Charlestown,  (Mass.)  at 
the  time  of  her  death ;  and  on  my  return  home 
was  informed  by  Col.  Kimbull,  that  it  was 
the  earnest  desire  of  the  old  lady  in  her  last 
sickness,  that  I  should  attend  her  funeral,  and 
preach  a  sermon  on  the  occasion ;  which  ser- 
mon she  wished  to  have  annexed  to  her  Nar- 
rative, as  I  had  undertaken  to  revise  the  copy, 
and  had  not  completed  it.   My  being  absent  at 
the  time  of  her  death  prevented  the  compli- 
ance with  her  request.     But  that  1  might  in 


Mn 


ig  Narrative 
St  date.    She 
vork  revised 
h.    She  had 
the  subject, 
wished  me  to 
;opy  right  se- 
(Mrs.  Kira- 
lo  if  time  and 
the  sadacci- 
h  soon  after, 
r  with  other 
eing  done  at 
1,  (Mass.)  at 
f  return  home 
1,  that  it  was 
ly  in  her  last 
r  funeral,  and 
i;  which  ser- 
d  to  her  Nar- 
vise  the  copy, 
eing  absent  at 
i  the  compli- 
It  1  might  in 


133 

c>axi\Q  measure  comply  with  her  wishes,  and 
being  particularly  solicited  by  Col.  Kimball, 
whose  wife  is  the  daughter  Captive,  so  often 
mentioned  in  the  narrative,  I  preached  a  ser 
mon  on  their  account,  at  Langdon,  on  the  10th 
of  February,  1811,  and  have  annexed  the  sub- 
stance of  it  to  the  narrative,  by  way  of  appen- 
dix. 

A  sermon  is  also  added  which  was  preach- 
ed by  the  Rev.  Dan  Foster,  late  of  C  harles- 
town,  at  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  for-  ^ 
merly  Mrs.  Willard,  the  mother  of  Mrs. 
Johnson,  alias  Mrs.  Hastings,  the  subject  of 
this  narrative. 

I  would  furrtiiT  remark  that  this  narrative 
has  been  considerably  enlarged  from  papers 
furnished  mc  by  Col.  Kimball,  together  with 
what  I  had  previously  taken  from  Mrs  Has- 
tings'  own  mouth,  and  also  the  circumstance 
of  the  accident  which  happened  at  Langdon, 
which  I  was  knowing  to  myself,  and  1  believe 
the  whole  to  be  a  correct  statement  of  farts. 
ABNER  KNEEL  AND. 

Langdon^  Sept.  18,  1811. 


ii 


I:' 


M 


I 


it-  J 


i 


Occasioned  htj  the  Death  of  Mrs.  Hastin^St 

who  died  Nov.  21  thy  1810,  in  the 

eighty  first  tjear  of  her  age.* 

Text— EccJ.  xi.  8, 


134. 


A  SERMON, 


But  if  a  man  live  many  years,  nnd  rej'Ace  in  them  alii 
yet  let  him  remember  the  dayt  of  darkness,  for  they 
are  many, 

IT  Mill  be  proper  just  to  premise  that  the 
occasion  of  reading  these  words  at  this  time 
is  the  late  death  of  the  aged  and  honorable 
Mrs.  Hastings ;  a  person  with  whom  many 
of  you,  my  hearers,  have  been  long  acquaint- 
ed ;  and  many  more,  if  not  all,  have  lieen  n.  de 
familiar  with  the  narrative  of  her  captivity  and 
unparalleled  sufferings ;  and  your  feeling  sen- 
sibility  has  often  been  excited  with  the  peru- 
sal, or  recital,  of  those  trying  scenes  through 
which  she  was  called  to  pass,  in  the  first  settle- 
ment of  this  country. 

To  dilate,  therefore,  on  her  life  or  charac- 
ter, would  be  useless  at  this  time  (as  it  would 
be  nothing  new)  to  you  who  are  present,  and 
if  this  discourse  should  ever  be  more  exten- 

•  She  breathed  out  her  last  expiring  moments,  till 
life  was  extinct,  supported  in  the  arms  of  her  daughter 
Captive,  for  whojQ  she  ever  manifested  the  greatest  af- 
fection. 


t 
s 
e 
n 
i 
t 
c 
r 
i 
i' 
c 
t 

e 

t( 
c 

V 

a 
s 
n 
s 
t 

• 

1 
c 

* 

i 
t 


in  the 


in  them  all  i 
ess, /or  they 


isethat  tbe 
:  this  time 
honorable 
iQin  many 
;  acquaint- 
lieen  ni  ;de 
ptivity  and 
ieelingsen* 
I  the  peru- 
;s  through 
first  settle- 

or  charac- 
as  it  would 
resent,  and 
lore  exten- 

momentS}  till 
her  daughter 
le  greatest  af* 


135 

sively  known,  the  most  essential  and  impor- 
tant parts  of  her  life  will  go  with  it.  And  as 
she  has  bid  the  world  adieu,  and  the  most  sol- 
emn scene  of  her  funeral  is  already  past,  it  will 
not  so  much  be  expected  that  1  should  enter 
into  those  particulars  at  this  time.  Suffice  it 
therefore  to  say,  that,  having  lived  to  a  good 
old  age — having  experienced  many  of  the  var 
rious  dispensations  of  the  providence  of  God — 
in  prosperity,  and  in  adversity — in  joy,  and 
in  sorrow — she  has  at  last  resigned  her  wont 
out  life,  with  a  firm  hope  of  a  future  immor- 
tality. 

Happy  indeed  should  I  have  been,  tc  have 
complied  with  her  wishes  so  far  as  to  have  a£. 
tended  her  interment,  and  delivered  this  dis- 
course to  her  surrounding  relations  and  friends 
who  attended  on  the  solemn  occasion.  But 
as  my  absence  at  the  time  prevented  it,  we 
shall  now  dispense  with  any  addresses  that 
might  then  have  been  thought  proper,  and 
shall  only  attend  to  a^doctrinal  disquisition  of 
the  text. 

*•  Bat  if  a  roan  live  many  years,  and  rejoice 
in  them  all ;  yet  let  him  remember  the  day  s 
of  darkness,  for  they  are  many." 
'  The  mortality  of  man  is  such,  that  but  a 
very  few,  comparatively  speaking,  live  to  what 
is  called  old  age.  There  are  so  many  casual- 
ties incident  to  human  nature,  that  the  pros- 
pect of  living  "  many  years,^'  is  rendered 
doubtful,  and  very  uncertain.    By  an  atten- 


136 

tion  to  the  bills  of  mortality,  it  wilt  be  seen 
that  the  number  who  arrive  to  three  score  years 
and  ten  (what  is  called  the  common  age  of 
man)  is  but  very  small  in  comparison  with  the 
whole  that  are  born ;  and  although  some  by 
reason  of  strength  live  to  four  score  years  and 
upwards,  yet  is  that  strength  labor  and  sor- 
row ;  for  it  is  soon  cut  off  and  we  fly  away. 

Virtue  itself  does  not  shield  a  man  against 
the  natural  evils  incident  to  human  life.  And 
though  some  may  seem  to  have  more  of  a  full 
share  than  others,  yet  no  one  ought  to  expect 
wholly  to  avoid  them. 

We  are  not,  however,  to  estimate  a  man's 
moral  character  by  what  outwardly  befalls  him ; 
because  time  and  chance  must  happen  to  all 
men  ;  and  if  wc  wish  to  learn  the  real  charac- 
ter of  a  man,  we  must  notice  with  what  pa- 
tience, with  what  fortitude  and  resignation  he 
endures  the  adverse  scenes  of  life. .  And  like- 
wise his  faithfulness  in  performing  his  duty, 
ti^ough  in  the  midst  of  peril  and  danger. 

Passing  over  the  uncertainty  of  human  life, 
which  is  apparent  to  all,  I  shall  notice  but  two 
propositions  from  the  text.     And  shew, 

I.  What  is  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to 
rejoice  in  all  his  days.     And 

II.  That  the  sorrows  and  aiBictions  inci- 
dent to  human  nature  are  not  incompatible 
with  the  joys  of  a  christian. 

I.  What  is  necessary  to  enable  a  roan  to 
rejoice  in  all  his  days  ? 


bl 

sa 

sa 
«( 

m 
th 

cr 
te 
cl 
fh 

Pl 

wl 

ed 
til 
be 
th 
fh 

Sij 
W( 

th 
yc 
lis 
bl 
qc 
is 
ar 
b( 
th 
all 
bl 


i4U  be  seen 
score  years 
non  age  of 
on  with  the 
h  some  by 
re  years  and 
)or  and  sor- 
•  fly  away, 
man  against 
1  life.  And 
ore  of  a  full 
U  to  expect 

late  a  man's 
befalls  him ; 
appen  to  all 
real  charac- 
ith  wlint  pa< 
ignation  he 
.  Andlike- 
ig  his  duty, 
langer. 
human  life, 
ice  but  two 
ihcw, 
:  a  man  to 

:tions  inci- 
compatible 

Ic  a  roan  to 


187 

1.  In  order  to  pass  through  lite  comforta- 
bly and  happy,  and  rejoice  in  all  the  dispen- 
sations of  the  providence  of  God,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  we  should  be  made  to  know  that 
**all  things  work  together  for  good,^*  though 
manifested  only  *'to  them  that  love  God;  to 
them  that  are  called  according  to  his  purpose" 
— that  the  knowledge,  the  wisdom,  the  pow- 
er, and  even  the  love,  or  goodness  of  God,  ex- 
tends to  all  events,  even  to  the  most  minute 
circumstances  in  his  providential  dealings  with 
|he  children  of  men— that  no  event  can  take 
place  without  his  divine  pe;  mission,  and  that 
what  he  permits,  all  circumstances  consider- 
ed, is  best  so  to  be-  -that  there  is  no  calcula- 
ting upon  any  thing  in  thii  lower  world,  as 
being  certain  to  us,  but  death,  and  even  that 
the  time  when  is  uncertain.  That  through 
the  weakness  of  our  understanding,  the  short 
sightedncss  of  our  knowledge,  (every  thing 
we  see  being  temporal)  although  the  order  of 
things  is  unalterably  fixed  in  the  eternal  mind, 
yet,  to  us,  they  are  mutable,  and  therefore 
liable  to  change.  And  if  we  have  been  ena- 
bled to  extend  our  thoughts  so  far  a^  to  dis- 
jjover  the  immutability  of  things  in  God,  it 
is  »iecessary  that  we  should  know  that  they 
are  immutably  good;  for  how  can  a  rational 
being  rejoice  in  an  unalterable  evil  ?  And  fur- 
tiiermore,  it  increases  our  felicity  to  know  that 
all  things  are  not  only  established  fof  good, 
but  that  they  are  established  on  rational  nrin*. 

M  2 


138 


ciples ;  not  by  a  blind  chance,  not  shnply  by 
an  unavoidable  fate — for  even  good  conferred 
upon  us  upon  such  principles,  would  not  ex- 
cite our  gratitude  to  God,  any  more  than  a 
prize  ticket  drawn  to  us  would  excite  our 
gratitude  to  the  managers  of  the  lottery  :  but 
the  good  which  we  receive  is  established  by 
God  himself,  as  being  the  fruits  of  infinite 
wisdom,  effected  by  unlimited  power,  and 
prompted  by  unbounded  love  or  goodness; 
And  if  we  are  rationally  convinced  that  all 
events  are  wisely  determined,  it  does  not  mili- 
tate  against  our  peace  or  happiness,  to  sup- 
pose, that  the  providence  of  God  respecting 
them  is  immutably  and  unalterably  establish- 
ed. For  when  any  thing  is  once  ordered  for 
the  best,  it  cannot  be  altered  for  the  better  ,- 
because  there  is  nothing  better  than  the  best. 

That  the  foreknowledge  of  God  extends  to 
all  events,  and  that  he  overrules;  superintends 
and  governs  all  events,  are  truths  that  will  not 
be  disputed  or  denied  by  any  who  believe  in 
a  Supreme  Being.  And  if  we  acknowledge 
that  God  govern&ali  events,  we  must  acknowl- 
edge that  he  governs  them  all  for  the  best,  or 
else  we  must  acknowledge  that  he  governs  all 
events,  but  not,  or  at  least,  not  a//  of  them  for 
the  best ;  which  idea  would  be  blasphemous- 
ly absui-d. 

The  Pharisees,  when  Christ  was  here  in 
the  flesh,  were  reminded  by  him  of  their  blas- 
phemy ;  when,  because  they  could  not  deny 


th< 
hii 
cai 
of 
ev 
go 

G< 

pe 
ou 

ca 
eo 

fai 
flii 
m 

gi 
to 

da 

to 
er 
at 
oi 
ti( 

th 
c< 

p 
n 
la 

at 


••Tiltil'lillliilWI'l.ili.iijIllll 


139 


t  shnply  by 
d  conferred 
lid  not  ex- 
more  than  a 
excite  our 
ottery  :  but 
iblished  by 
\  of  infinite 
power,  and 
r  goodness; 
sed  that  all 
es  not  mill- 
:ss,  to  sup- 
respecting 
Y  establish- 
ordered  for 
the  better  ,- 
m  the  best. 
1  extends  to 
uperintcnds 
that  will  not 

0  believe  in 
:knowledge 
ist  acknowl- 
the  best,  or 
governs  all 
of  them  for 
asphemous- 

i^as  here  in 
'  their  bias. 

1  not  deny 


the  miracles  which  he  wrought,  they  accused 
him  of  having  an  unclean  spirit,  and  that  he 
cast  out  devils  through  Beelzebub,  the  prince 
of  the  devils.  And  the  idea  that  God  does,  or 
ever  will  punish  his  creatures,  but  not  for  their 
good,  is  equally  derogatory  of  his  character. 
Such  ideas  do  not  become  tlie  faithful  child  of 
God.  lie  rejoices  that  God  overrules  and  su- 
perintends all  events,  and  that,  however  griev- 
ous they  may  be  to  be  borne,  they  are  wisely 
calculated  to  yield  the  peaceable  fruits  of  right- 
eousness  to  them  that  are  exercised  thereby. 

This  is  the  christian's  consolation.  Such 
faith  as  this  is  able  to  solace  the  deepest  af- 
fliction, and  give  patience  and  fortitude  to  the 
mind.  It  strengthens  the  understanding  and 
gives  vigilance  to  the  animal  faculties,  so  as 
to  enable  us  to  go  through  any  pain,  peril  or 
danger,  when  prudentially  deemed  expedient, 
to  preserve  our  own  lives  or  the  lives  of  oth- 
ers. A  firm  confidence  in  God  is  therefore 
absolutely  necessary  to  enable  us  to  rejoice, 
or  even  calmly  to  acquiesce  in  the  dispensa- 
tions of  his  providence. 

2.  A  constant  and  inflexiblie  adherence  to 
the  principles  of  virtue  is  also  absolutely  ne- 
cessary to  enable  us  to  rejoice  in  all  our  days. 

That »  deviatioa  fron»  this  principle  should 
produce  guilt,  pain^  condemnationr  horror  and 
remorse,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  unalteraWe 
laws  of  moral  nature.  In  vahi  may  a  man 
attempt  to  assuage  his  guilt,  or  calm  his  con- 


I 


140 

science  with  the  idea  that  he  could  mi  have 
done  otherwise,  when  he  intends  to  do,  or  in 
fact  has  djne,  that  which  his  own  conscience 
tells  him  IS  wrong.     For  his  guilt  and  all  the 
ovil  consequences  that  follow,  are  as  morally 
certam,  as  his  crime.    The  carnal  mind  aU 
ways  reasons,  if  he  attempts  to  reason  at  aH, 
jtontrary  to  facts  and   our  daily  experience. 
He  would  willingly  admit  the  moral  certainty 
of  all  events  if  lie  could  thereby  exculpate  him- 
self from  blame.     And  of  course  the  carnal 
mind  will  argue  thus;  that  he  was  under  the 
Jatal  necessity  of  doing  as  he  did  :  hence  the 
blame,  if  any  there  be,  cannot  be  in  the  crea- 
lure.     Not  realizing  that  guilt,  and  all  the 
evil  consequences  of  sin,  areas  much  «;<?«/*, 
in  the  providence  of  God,  as  tlie  crimes  that? 
produce  them.    And  it  being  consistent  with 
infinite  wisdom  and  goodness  to  suffer,  per- 
mit  or  allow,  sin  to  exist  in  the  moral  system, 
certainly  it  cannot  be  inconsistent  with  the 
same  wisdom  and  goodness,  even  to  decree 
that  guilt  and  misery  should  be  its  direful  con- 
sequences.    For  one,  I  am  so  fully  convinced 
that  virtue  produces  its  own-  reward^  and  sin 
carries  with  it  its  own  punishment,  that  I  will 
venture  to  give  it  as  a  maxim,  which  i believe 
wfll  ever  hold  true,  thai  whatsoever  produces 
no  guilt,  no  shame,  no  remorse,  no  condemna- 
tion,  in  a  word,  no  evil  consequences,  even  to 
the  sinner  himself,  is  not  sin.     It  may,  howev. 
er,  be  stated  iiere,  by  way  of  objection,,  that 


a  r 

wit! 

that 

fori 

er, 

evei 

ofli 

est 

oug 

grai 

dist 

can 

of  { 

evil 

satn 

ty; 

evil 
ble 
son 
ers, 
My 
moi 
? 
virt 
Gon 
con 
not 
%\.o\ 
tak( 
sed 
be  ( 
dee 


mmmm 


<id  not  have 
to  do,  or  in 
I  conscience 

and  all  the 

as  morally 
al  mind  aU 
eason  at  all, 
experience, 
ral  certainty 
lulpate  him- 

the  carnal 
sunder  the 
:  hence  the 
n  the  crea- 
and  all  the 
luch  events, 

crimes  that 
sistent  with 
suffer,  per- 
iral  system, 
t  with  the 
i»  to  decree 
lireful  con- 

convinced 
d>  and  sin 
,  that  I  will 
;h  £  believe 
r  produces 
condemna- 
es,  even  to- 
ly,  howev- 
ction,.  that 


141 

a  man  may  wrong  his  neighbor,  or  friend, 
without  producing  any  injury  to  himself,  and 
that  such  an  act  is  sin.  1  grant  that  it  is  sin 
for  any  one  man,  knowingly,  to  injure  aneth- 
er,  or  to  give  unjust  or  unnecessary  pain, 
even  to  an  enemy  ;  but  I  deny  the  possibility 
of  his  doing  it  without  producing  the  great- 
est injury  to  himself ;  and  such  a  proposition 
ought  to  be  first  proved  before  it  is  taken  for 
granted.  One  man  may  be  the  occasion  of 
disturbing  the  peace  of  many  ;  but'he  never 
can,  by  his  own  act,  be  the  cause  of  the  guilt 
of  any  but  himself.  It  is  true  he  may,  by  his 
evil  example,  induce  others  to  commit  the 
same  crime,  and  thereby  become  equally  guU- 
ty  ;  but  they  are  not  guilty  till  they  follow  the 
evil  example.  And  my  hearers  will  be  capa- 
ble of  judging  which  is  the  greatest  misery, 
sorrow  occasioned  by  the  evil  conduct  of  oth- 
ers, or  guUt  produced  by  our  own  crimes. 
My  conscience  tells  me  that  the  latter  is  the: 
most  to  be  dreaded. 

My  max'm  is  equally  good  on  the  side  of 
virtue.  That  which  produces  no  peace,  no 
comfort,  no  consolation,  in  a  word,  no  good 
consequences,  even  to  the  doer  of  the  deed,  is 
not  virtue.  And  furthermore,  whoever  be- 
stows a  favor,  on  another,  is  the  greatest  par- 
taker of  the  benefit ;  because  ♦•  it  is  more  bles- 
sed to  give  than  to  receive,^*  If  this  sentiment 
be  correct,  as  I  presume  it  is,  how  blessed  in- 
deed must  be  our  heavenly  Father,  who  is  the 


142 


^i 


giver  and  bestower  of  every  good  and  perfect 
gift,  both  spiritual  and  temporal.  And  how 
miserable  indeed  must  be  the  condition  of  that 
man  who  is  entirely  destitute  of  a  principle 
of  benevolence !  Whoever,  therefore,  would 
see  good  days,  and  rejoice  in  them  all,  must 
adhere,  rigidly  adhere,  to  the  strictest  obser- 
vance  of  virtue.  All  outward  professions, 
without  this  internal  principle,  are  but  a  mere 
name,  as  empty  in  its  sound  as  the  **  sounding 
brass  or  the  tinkling  cymbal."  He,  and  he 
only,  let  him  live  many  years  or  few,  that  keep- 
eth  a  conscience  void  of  offence  towards  God 
and  man,  may  be  truly  said  to  rejoice  in  all  his 
days. 

3.  Hope  in  immortality  is  also  necessary  to 
enable  a  man  to  rejoice  in  all  his  days. 

Short  of  this  hope,  the  best  prospects  in  life 
are  but  an  awful  uncertainty.  One  thought 
of  death  blasts  all  our  expectations  in  this  life, 
as  it  respects  ourselves,  and  a  gloomy,  dismal 
and  uncertain  hereafter,  is  the  only  refuge  to 
all  those  who  have  not  a  well  grounded  hope 
in  immortality. 

This  hope  is  obtained  only  by  a  firm  belief 
in  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  In  him,  life 
and  immortality  are  brought  to  light  through 
the  gospel.  And  whoever  can  lully  believe 
(and  whoever  feels  interested  enough  to  exam- 
ine the  testimony  will  not  doubt  of  the  fact) 
that  God  raised  ujv  Jesus  from  the  dead,  can, 
from  the  same  source  of  evidence,  easily  he- 


iievc  1 
-and  n 
ly  pla 
Son,  I 
he  no 
— ♦«« 
blessii 
him.t 
shouh 
in  lov 
(i.e. 
he  is  ] 
and  c( 
all  his 
Wl 
crossc 
tohui 
all  dei 
^vhere 
throu^ 
holy  f 
Lord  1 
andev 
they  s' 
and  si| 
fuUnes 
'*  gav( 
indue 
mome 
asspei 
our  he 
out  fa 


i  and  perfect 
1.  And  how 
dition  of  that 
'  a  principle 
efore,  would 
em  all,  must 
*ictest  cbser- 

professions, 
•e  but  a  mere 
e  **  sounding 

He,  and  he 
w,  that  keep- 
towards  God 
Dice  in  all  his 

necessary  to 
lays. 

aspects  in  life 
One  thought 
s  in  this  life, 
oomy,  dismal 
)ly  refuge  to 
oundedhope 

a  firm  belief 
In  him,  life 
light  through 
I  tuUy  believe 
ugh  to  exam- 
t  of  the  fact) 
he  dead,  can, 
ce,  easily  he- 


143 

iieve  that  the  same  power  will  raiae  up  us  also, 
snnd  make  us  sit  together  with  him,  in  heaven- 
ly places.  *♦  For  if  God  spared  not  his  own 
Son,  but  delivered  him  up  for  us  all,  how  shall 
he  not  also  with  him  freely  give  us  all  things  ?"  ' 
— "who  hath  blessed  us  with  all  spiritua! 
blessings,  according  as  he  liath  chosen  us  in 
him,  before  the  foundation  of  the  world,  that  we 
should  be*  holy  and  without  blame  before  him 
in  love."  "  Whoever  hath  this  hope  in  him, 
(i.  c.  in  Christ)  will  purify  himself  even  as 
he  is  pure. "  And  from  the  purity  of  his  lile 
and  conduct  he  will  be  enabled  to  rejoice  in 
all  his  days.  , 

When  we  can,  ami<^t  all  the  trials,  losses, 
crosses,  affliction  and  disappointments  incident 
to  human  life,  look,  by  an  eye  of  faith,  bevond 
all  death  and  time  into  that  spu-itual  world, 
Avhere  sorrow  can  never  come,  and  there, 
through  the  testimony  of  the  mouth  of  God's 
holy  proph  ts,  behold  the  •'  ramomed  of  the 
Lord  returning  and  coming  to  him  with  songs 
and  everlasting  joys  upon  their  heads,  where 
they  shall  obtain  joy  and  gladness,  and  sorrow 
and  sighing  shall  Bee  away  ;"  and  through  the 
fullness  of  the  gospel,  believe  that  Christ 
I*  gave  himself  a  rawvowyor  a// to  be  testified 
m  due  time,"  will  view  all  such  afflictions  but 
momentary ;  and  therefore  will  receive  them 
as  specimens  of  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of 
our  heavenly  father,  being  calculated  to  work 
out  for  us  ••  a  far  more  eK:eeding  and  eternal 


I 


144 


Mcight  of  glory."  Hence  every  bitter  hatj  Us 
sweet,  every  sorrow  is  tempered  with  the  spir- 
it  of  consolation;  and  wc  have  every  reason 
to  believe  that  us  our  day  is,  so  will  our  strength 
be,  and  that  while  we  arc  destined  to  live  m 
this  wi.rld,  God  will  lay  no  more  upon  us  than 
what  he  will  enable  us  to  bear.  All  pain 
must  be  either  tolerable  or  intolerable— if 
tolerable,  it  may  be  endured— but  if  intolera- 
ble  it  must  be  short— for  the  moment  that 
pain  becomes  intolerable  it  destroys  all  sense, 
and  there  lore  ceases  to  be  pain. 

Such  faith,  such  hope,  and  such  confidence 
in  God  will  nc  sufficient  to  bear  up  the  soul 
umler  all  trials,  carrv  it  througKall  difficulties, 
giving  it  the  final  victory  over  sin  and  death. 

4    As  all  mankind  have  sinned  and  come 
short  of  the  glory  of  God,  in  order  for  us  to 
eetthe  victory  over  the  sting  of  death,  whicH 
IS  sin  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  know  that 
««  God  is  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto 
himself,  not  imputing  unto  them  their  trespas- 
ses,  but  hath  made    him   to  be  sm  (or  rather 
a  sin  offering)  for  us,  who  knew  no  sm    that 
we  might  be  made  the  righteousness  of  God  m 
him."     And  as  repentance  and  remission  of 
sins  are  necessary  to  reconciliation,  God  hath 
exalted  Jesus  to  be  "  a  Prince  and  a  Savior,  to 
Rive  repentance  unto  Israel  and  remission   <rf 
Ls."     And  is  he  the  God  of  the  Jews  only  ? 
Is  he  not  tlK:  God  ol'  the  Gentiles  also ?  \ts  ot 
the  Gentiles  also.     For  God  who  is  rich    .1 


rne 
the 
mi 
anc 
net 
Tl 

inc 
wi 

du 
gr( 

llK 
SOI 
SC( 

tht 

ev( 

th( 

to 

fie 

ev< 

fro 

Nt 

mi 

tht 

be 

tvv 

thi 

for 

cei 


MIMM 


I 


itter  has  its 
rith  the  spir- 
vcry  reason 
our  strength 
)  to  hvc  in 
ipon  us  than 
r.  All  pain 
olerablc — if 
t  if  intolera- 
nomcnt  that 
^'8  all  sense, 

h  confidence 
up  the  soul 
1  difficulties, 
and  death. 
1  and  corae 
icr  for  us  to 
leath,  which 
lid  know  that 
I  world  unto 
their  trespas- 
iin  (or  rather 
'  no  sin.   that 
less  of  God  in 

remission  of 
»n,  God  hath 
d  a  Savior,  to 
remission  of 
I  Jews  only  ? 

also?  Ytsof 
iio  is  rich  '.i 


145     ^ 

Tiicrcyhath  "  concluded  them  all  in  unbclicr 
that  he  might  have  mercy  upon  all."  Are- 
mission,  therefore,  of  all  our  .sins  that  arc  past, 
and  a  salvation  from  sin  for  the  future,  is  also 
necessary  to  enable  us  to  rejoice  in  all  our  days. 
This  lirings  me  to  shew, 

Secondly,  That  the  sorrows  and  afflictions 
incident  to  hummi  nature,  are  not  incompatible 
with  the  joys  of  a  christian. 

"  Althouj^h  affliction  cometh  not  forth  of  the 
dust,  neither  doth  trouble  spring  out  of 
ground,  yet  man  is  born  unto  trouble,  as  the 
the  sparks  fly  upward."  And  although 
some  are  called  to  pass  through  much  greater 
scenes  oi  sorrow  and  affliction  than  others,  yet 
ther,  are  none  wholly  exempt.  In  this  respect, 
*'  time  and  chance  happen  unto  all  men."— 
"  All  things  come  alike  to  all ;  there  is  one 
event  to  the  righteous  and  to  the  wicked  ;  to 
the  good,  and  lo  the  clean,  and  totht;  unclean  ; 
to  him  that  sacrificcth,  and  to  him  that  sacri- 
ficeth  not."  Virtue,  morality,  religion,  yea, 
even  piety  itself,  does  not  exempt  mankind 
from  any  natural  evil  to  which  we  are  subject. 
Neither  is  sin  certain  to  produce  any  of  ihose 
misfortunes  to  which  wc  arc  always  liable  by 
the  providence  of  God.  If  therefore  there 
be  no  certain  and  necessary  connexion  be- 
tween virtue  and  prosperity  in  the  things  of 
this  world,  and  bin  and  adversity,  or  the  mis- 
fortunes of  life,  then  there  is  nothing  that  ne- 
cessarily debars   us  from  partaking  of  all  the 

N 


146 

joys  of  a  christian,  notwithstanding  our  tem- 
poral life  may  be  a  scene  of  sorrow  and  afflic- 
tion. 

The  original  organization  and  constitution 
of  the  human  body  is  sufficient  to  convince 
any  rational  mind,  that  is  not  fettered  with  the 
prejudices  of  a  false  education,  that  these 
bodies  were  never  designed  for  an  immortal 
state ;  for  "  flesh  and  blood  cannot  inherit  the 
kingdom  of  God,  neither  can  corrupiion  in- 
herit incorruption/'  Mortality  is  instam^ied 
upon  all  animated  nature;  and  man,  in  this 
respect,  hath  no  pre-eminence  above  a  heust. 
**  For  that  which  befalleth  the  sons  of  men  be- 
lalleth  beasts :  even  one  thing  befalleth  them  : 
as  the  one  dieth,  so  dieth  the  other  ;  yea,  they 
have  all  one  breath."*  Has  sin  affected  the 
brutal  creation,  and  produced  their  mortality? 
or  was  man  mortal  and  subject  to  death  even 
before  sin  entered  the  moral  system  ?  It  is  true 
it  was  not  revealed  unto  Adam  that  he  was 
dust,  and  must  return  to  the  dust  again,  till  af. 
ter  the  transgression.;  but  it  was  as  true  before 
as  it  was  afterwards  j  for  the  Lord  God  forni' 
edman  of  the  dust  of  the  ground — gave  him  an 
earthly  constitution,  which  was  sensual,  cor- 
ruptible, yea,  mortal.  The  evils  of  mortali- 
ty, therefore,  ought  not  to  be  imputed  to  sui. 
I  am  willing  to  grant  that  the  miseries  of  this 
mortal  state  may  be  greatly  increased  by  sin, 

•Bicl.  iii.  l». 


ll 


147 


ig  OUT  tem- 
>w  and  afflic- 

constitution 
to  convince 
red  with  the 
,  that  these 
m  immortal 
it  inherit  the 
rriip'Jon  in- 
5  instam^ied 
man,  in  this 
•ove  a  beast, 
s  of  men  be- 
itlicth  them : 
r ;  yea,  they 
affected  the 
r  mortality? 
)  death  even 
1  ?  It  is  true 
that  he  was 
again,  tillaf. 
B  true  before 
1  God  form- 
gave  him  an 
ensual,  cor> 
i  of  mortali- 
>uted  to  ski. 
series  of  this 
ased  by  sin^ 


But  what  I  would  wish  to  be  understood  to 
say,  is,  that  the  seeds  of  mortality  were  sown 
ih  man  in  the  original  constitution  of  his  na- 
ture, and  that  hd  was  ever,  after  being  formed 
of  the  dust,  subject  to  natural  death ;  and  must 
have  experienced  the  natural  evils  attendant  on 
this  life,  such  as  painsj-  sickness,  providential 
misfortunes,  and  even  natt^ral  death,  if  man 
had  never  sinned. 

Again.  It  issaid  of  Jtsus,  that  '*he  shall 
save  his  people  from  their  sins."  And  if  he 
will  save  them  from  their  sins,  it  is  most  ra- 
tional to  believe  that  by  so  doing  he  will  save 
them  from  all  the  consequences  of  sin.  But 
Christ  has  never  yet  saved,  and  we  have  no 
reason  to  expect  that  he  ever  will  save,  a  soul 
from  natural  dcatlu 

Christ  himself,  although  without  sin,  was 
subject  to  natural  death.  Death  reigned  from 
Adam  to  Moses,  even  on  those  who  had  not 
sinned  after  the  similitude  of  Adam's  trans- 
gression. And  death  still  is  and  ever  has  been 
the  common  lot  of  all  animated  nature,  Enoch 
and  Elijah  excepted.  And  I  should  consider 
those  two  instances  as  early  intimations  of  an 
immortal  state,  rather  than  an  evidence  that 
man  originally  was  not  subject  to  natural 
death. 

Much  more  might  be  said  to  establish  this 
proposition,  if  it  were  necessary  ;  but  our  ar- 
gument does  not  rest  wholly  on  this  particular 
point ;  for  even  should  wc  admit  that  natural, 


-.rs^SKfeir 


i-Vl'VJ    i«liU«*i"i"«. 


i 


li 


i 


148 

as  well  as  moral  death  is  the  efFect  of  sin  ;  yet 
when  we  reflect  that  we  have  an  advocate  with 
the  Father,  even  Jesus  Christ  the  righteous, 
*'  who  gave  himselfa  propitiation  for  our  sins, 
and  not  for  ouis  only  but  for  the  sins  of  the 
•whole  world,"  we  can  anticipate  the  time  when 
all  the  consequences  of  sin,  whether  natural 
or  moral,  will  be  completely  at  an  end,  and 
death  swallowed  up  of  life. 

Such  a  remembrance  of  the  days  of  darkness 
as  this  will  serve  to  s  p.QXQn  all  our  ei^joymcntu 
and  give  a  zest  to  c  -eal  pleasure.  We 
should  remember  ■.:■  :i  days  only  to  en- 
hance our  joys  at  tlK  ..^ni  of  deliverance,  to 
brighten  our  hopes  in  the  prospect  of  future 
glorv,  and  to  excite  our  gratitude  for  the  un- 
mcviicd  blessing.  And  such  considerations 
should  further  serve  to  give  us  foititude  of 
mind  to  endure  providential  evils  with  patience 
and  resignation  while  they  coniinuc. 

The  sentiments  inculcated  in  this  discourse 
have  been  completely  verified  in  the  thorough- 
ly  tried  life  and  unshaken  death  of  her  who 
has  been  the  occasion  of  it.  She  has  gone 
down  to  the  dust  in  a  good  old  age,  like  a 
shock  of  corn  fully  ripe,  richly  laden  with  the 
experience  of  the  goodness  of  God.  Her  for- 
titude has  been  remarkable  ;  and  to  this,  un- 
der  the  providence  of  God,  perhaps  may  be 
imputed  the  preservation  of  her  life  through 
scenes  the  most  unparalleled  of  which  histo- 
ry affords.    Where  one  would  have  survived, 


inHHflRiR\ 


:  of  sin  ;  yet 
Ivocate  with 
le  righteous, 
for  our  sins, 
sins  of  the. 
le  time  when 
:ther  natural 
an  end,  and 

IS  of  darkness 
rei^joymcntii 
jasuve.     We 

only  to  en- 
jliverance,  to 
ect  of  future 
le  for  the  un- 
onsiderations 
i  foititudc  of 
with  patience 
lue. 

this  discourse 
the  thorough- 
\  of  her  who 
ihe  has  gone 
1  age,  like  a 
laden  with  the 
od.  Her  for- 
1  to  this,  un- 
rhaps  may  be 
IT  life  through 

which  histo- 
lave  survived, 


149 

h  is  more  than  probable  that  hundreds  would 
have  suffered  death  under  more  favorable  cir> 
cumstances; 

Her  sufferings  have  been  so  great  that  ma- 
ny who  have  read  her  Narrative  have  believed 
the  whole  to  be  a  fiction-^a  mere  idle  tale  pub- 
lished to  amuse  the  credulous  part  of  commu- 
nity, and  get  their  money.  But  the  additional 
circumstances  in  the  latter  part  of  her  life,  to- 
gether with  her  death,  will  give  new  strength 
to  the  evidence  and  make  her  narrative  stiH 
ihore  interesting.  The  plain  simple  facts 
were  ■sufficiently  interesting,  not  to  need  the 
imagination  of  the  poet,  or  the  eloquence  of 
the  orator,  to  engage  the  attention  of  every 
feeling  heart. 

The  last  respects  to  her  remains  have  been 
paid.  She  has  paid  the  last  debt  of  nature, 
which  we  must  all  pay  sooner  or  later.  An 
effecting  stroke,  to  be  sure,  to  her  surviving 
children  and  friends,  though  nothing  more 
than  what  they  have  long  had  reason  to  expect. 
After  surviving  so  many  tiding  scenes,  from 
all  of  which  she  had  recovered^  she  calmly 
resigned  her  life,  apparently  being  worn  out 
with  old  age.  You  have  therefore,  my  re- 
spected friends,  no  serious  cause  to  mourn ; 
but  rather  may  you  rejoice,  that  the  earthly 
house  of  her  tabernacle  being  dissolved,  you 
have  every  reason  to  believe  that  she  hath  a 
building  cf  God,  an  hou&e  not  made  with 
hands,  etenial  in  the  heavens. 

N   2 


! 


150 


She  is   gone  to  the  world  of   spirits,  and 
thither  must  we  all  follow  her  sooner  or  later, 
*'  For  the  dust  must  return  to  the  earth  as  it 
was,  but  the  spirit  to  God  who  gave  it."  May 
we  all  so  live,  and  so  conduct,  whilst  the  brit- 
tle thread  of  life  is  lengthened  out  unto  us, 
and  also  may  we  possess  that  faith,  hope  and 
confidence  in  our  God,  that  when  he  shall  call 
us  to  bid   adieu  to  the    things  of  time  and 
sense,  we  may  go  on  our  way  rejoicing ;  be 
enabled  to  look  t)ack  on  our  past  lives  with 
the  pleasing  satisfaction  that  we  have  kept  a 
conscience  void  of  offence,  toward  God  and 
toward  man  ;  having  our  work  done  and  well 
done,  which  was  allotted  us  here  to  do :  may 
we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  die-^calmly 
falling  asleep  in  Jesus  Christ ;  may  we  close 
our  eyes  in  peace  on  all  sub^>unary  enjoyments 
— rest  in  hope,  till  we  shall  arise  to  a  glorious 
immortality — be  clothed  upon  with  our  house 
from  above,  and  be  received  into  those  realms 
of  celestial  glory,  where  no  sin  nor  sorrow 
shall  ever  enter ;  there  may  our  hearts  be  tun- 
ed upon  the  golden  lyre  of  God's  grace,  to 
join  with  seraphs  and  angels  and  all  the  beati. 
fied  spirits  of  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord  which 
shall  compose  the  heavenly  nosts,  to  celebrate 
the  praises  of  Him  who  is  worthy  to  receive 
all  possible  glory,  honor  and  power,  through- 
out an  ever  beginning,  and  never  ending  eter- 
nity.    "Which  may  God  grant  to  be  the  happy 
lot  and  portion  of  all  the  rangomed  sous  and 


dau 

diat 

J  est 

be 

the 

hatl 

asc! 

and 


151 


spirits,  and 
ner  or  later, 
earth  as  it 
eit."  May 
ist  thebrit- 
it  unto  us, 
h,  hope  and 
he  shall  call 
}f  time  and 
loicing ;  be 
:  lives  with 
have  kept  a 
1  God  and 
ne  and  well 
o  do :  may 
lie — calmly 
ly  we  close 
enjoyments 

0  a  glorious 

1  our  house 
hose  realms 
nor  sorrow 
arts  be  tun- 
s  grace,  to 
II  the  beati- 
Lord  which 
to  celebrate 
f  to  receive 
er,  through- 
ending  eter- 
)e  the  happy 
:d  sous  and 


daughters  of  Adam,  for  the  sake  of  the  "  Me- 
diation between  God  and  men,  the  man  Christ 
Jesus,  who  gave  himself  a  ransom  for  all  to 
be  testified  in  due  time,  to  whom  with  God 
the  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  "who 
hath  blessed  us  with  spiritual  blessings,"  be 
ascribed  all  honor  and  glory,  now,  henceforth 
and  forever  more.    Amen. 


The  Burial  of  a  Mother, 

BEHOLD  the  sad  impending  stroke  •. 

Which  now  arrests  our  eyes  ; 
The  silken  bands  of  union  broke, 

A  tender  Mother  dies  ! 

She's  gone  !  she's  gone  to  realms  above  ! 

Where  saints  and  ar.gt:ls  meet  \ 
To  realize  her  Saviour's  love, 

And  worship  at  his  I'eet. 

Her  pains  and  groans  are  now  all  o'er. 

She's  Ronc  to  Ocd  on  liigh  ; 
Her  wishtui  eyes  shall  weep  no  more, 

No  more  her  spirit  sigh. 

For  you  who  round  her  body  moumf 
And  drop  the  flowing  teats ; 

How  many  sorrows  she.  haih  bomt, 
In  all  her  lengthen'd  years. 

Her  sorrows  T»av  are  at  an  end. 

The  Lord  dia  for  her  call ; 
And  Jesus  is  her  only  friend^ 

tier  lire,  her  health,  her  ALL. 


Ijf2 


A  l&ERMON, 

JOeiht&e/I  at  the  funeral  of  Mrs.  Whitcomb, 
May  1th,  1797  i—By  Dan  Foster,  A,  M. 

1  Cor.  XV.  57. 

"Bui  lAanka  be  to  Goi  who  giveth  ut  the  victcrtf  througfi 
our  LordJesua  Chriit.** 

WERE  it  not  for  the  hope  of  eternal  life 
given  us  in  Christ  Jesus,  the  departure  of  near 
friends  and  relatives,  and  the  thoughts  of  death, 
would  be  accompanied  yi'xXh  sorrows  almost 
insupportable.  To  be  as  though  we  never 
had  been,  at  best  is  but  a  glooniy  thought : 
kut  an  etern;i|l  existence  in  sin  and  misery  is 
a  thought  infinitely  more  intplerable.  Any 
thing  short,  then,  of  possessing  the  hope  of 
life  and  immortality,  promised  m  the  gospel, 
would  render  all  beyond  the  grave,  at  best, 
but  a  sad  and  awful  uncertainty.  And  altho* 
the  christian  has  no  positive  demonstration, 
as  it  is  necessary,  whilst  he  tabernacles  in  the 
flesi),  that  he  should  walk  *'  by  faith  and  not 
by  sight,"  yet,  relying  on  the  divine  testimo. 
ny,  he  possesses  a  hope  that  is  like  an  *'  an- 
chor to  his  soul,"  both  sure  and  stedfast ; 
which  hope  entereth  into  that  which  is  within 
the  vail,  \yhere  Jesus,  our  propitiation  and 
fore  runner,  Iiath  entered  for  us.  This  hope 
giveth  us  the  victory,  and  enables  us  to  tri. 


um 

on 
1 

of  1 

gen 

of 
I 

reft 
and 
vcr 
unt 
vol 
in  ; 
ye 

del 
so  1 
ace 
bii 
:»C£ 
cki 
dci 
CI 
cdi 
to" 
the 

tid 


go 


til 


rs.  Whitcomb, 
tsteTf  A,  M. 


le  victory  through 

of  eternal  life 
larfure  of  near 
ights  of  death, 
>rrows  almost 
igh  we  never 
)niy  thought  : 
ind  misery  is 
ierable.  Any 
r  the  hope  of 
n  the  gospel, 
rave,  at  best, 
,  And  altho* 
!emonstration, 
rnacles  in  the 

faith  and  not 
vine  testimo> 

like  an  **  an. 
md  stedfast ; 
hich  is  within 
>pitiation  and 
This  hope 
les  us  to  tri. 


153 

umpb  over  the  fear  of  death.     I  shall  proceed, 
on  this  occasion,  in  the  following;  order : 

I.  I  will  endeavor  lo  state  the  connexion 
of  the  words  with  the  context,  and  shew  the 
general  instruction  contained  in  the  chapter. 

II,  Make  a  practical  use  of  the  meaning 
of  the  text. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  chapter  the  apostle 
refers  to  the  gospel  which  he  had  preached, 
and  speaks  of  its  nature  and  importance,  as  in 
verse  1—4.  "  Moreover,  brethren,  I  declare 
unto  you  the  gospel  which  I  preached  unto 
you,  which  also  yc  have  received,  and  where- 
in ye  stand  ;  iy  which  also  ye  are  saved,  if 
ye  keep  in  memory  what  1  preached  unto 
you,  unless  ye  have  believed  in  vain.  For  I 
delivered  unto  you  first  ef  all,  that  which  1  al- 
so received,  how  that  Christ  died  for  cur  sins, 
aecording  to  the  scriptures  :  And  that  he  was 
buried,  and  that  he  rose  again  the  third  day, 
according  to  the  scriptures."  Hence  it  is  evi- 
dtint  the  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead  was  contained  in  the  gospel  of  Jesus 
Christ,  which  Paul  preached.  Yea,  the  knowl- 
edge of  salvation,  the  knowledge  of  God,  whom 
to  know  is  life  eternal,  comes  to  man  through 
the  medium  of  the  gospel,  which  is  ''  good 
tidings  of  great  joy  to  all  people." 

Some  of  the  most  important  articles  of  the 
gospel,  which  is  our  salvation,  are  these  ;  that 
"Christ  died  for  our  sins;"  i.  e.  to  procure 
tlie  remission  of  them,  to  propitiate  them,  and 


154 

reconcile  us  to  God,  "  according  to  the  scripi 
lures,"  As  the  apostle  observes,  •'  if  any 
man  sin,  wc  have  an  advocate  with  tlie  Father, 
Jesus  ChriJ^t  the  righteous  :  And  he  is  the 
propitiation  for  our  sins  ;  and  not  for  ours  on- 
ly, but  also  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world." 
"  For  the  love  of  Christ  constraineth  us  be- 
cause  we  thus  judge  ;  that  if  one  died  for  all, 
tiien  were  all  dead  ;  and  he  died  lor  all,  that 
they  who  live  should  not  li-ve  unto  themselves, 
but  unto  him  that  died  for  them  and  rose 
again."  Isaiah  gives  us  the  same  idea  of  the 
design  of  the  death  of  Christ :  see  chup.  liii. 
ver.  S,  6.  '*  But  he  was  wounded  for  out 
transgressions ;  he  was  bruised  for  our  iniqui- 
ties^; the  chastisement  of  our  peace  was  upon 
him;  and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed.  All 
we,  like  sheep,  have  gone  astray  ;  we  have 
turned  every  one  to  his  own  way  ;  and  the 
Lord  hath  laid  on  him  the  iniquity  ol  us  all." 
We  are  not  only  tn\ight,  by  the  scriptures, 
that  Christ  died  for  our  sins,  but  that  he  rose  a« 
gain,  for  ourjustificationasthe  apostle  elsewhere 
observes :  "  VV'ho  was  delivered  for  our  cff  nces 
androse  again  for  our  justification  ;  therefore, 
b:  ing  justified  by  faith,  wehave  peace  with  God, 
thr'  ugb  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ :  by  whom 
also  we  have  access  by  faith  in  this  grace 
wherein  we  stand,  and  rejoice  in  hope  of  the 
glory  of  God."  in  consequence  of  the  resur- 
rection of  Christ,  the  apostie,  and  we,  and  all 
believers,  mc  justified  in- having  hUtb  in  him  as 


to  the  scripi 
es,  •'  if  any 
li  the  Father, 
nd  he  is  the 

for  ours  on- 
hole  world." 
lineth  us  be. 

died  for  all, 
I  tor  all,  thut 
»  themselves, 
em  and  rose 
e  idea  of  the 
?e  chup.  liii. 
ded  for  out 
ir  our  iniqui- 
ice  was  upon 
healed.  All 
y ;  we  have 
ay  ;  and  the 
r  ol  US  all." 
e  scriptures, 
lat  he  rose  a« 
tie  elsewhere 

our  cff.  noes 
I ;  therefore, 
ice  with  God, 
:  by  whom 
i   this  grace 

hope  of  the 
of  the  resur- 
l  we,  and  all 
itb  in  him  as 


I 


i55 

a  divine  person,  the  Messias,  of  whom  Moses 
and  the  prophets  did  write ;  the  Sbiloh,  who 
was  to  come  ;  the  Just  One,  to  whom  the 
gathering  of  the  people  shall  be;  the  Lamb  of 
God,  who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world ; 
the  Christ,  who  by  the  blood  of  his  cross  shall 
reconcile  all  things  unto  himself ;  the  Saviour, 
who  shall  save  his  people  from  their  sins  ;  the 
Mediator,  who  gave  himself  a  ransom  for  all 
to  be  testified  in  due  time.  The  apostle  speaks 
of  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  as  a  matter  ot 
vast  importance  ;  and  as  a  thing  of  sufficient 
certainty.  See  the  importance  attached  to  the 
resurrection  of  Christ  by  the  apostle,  as  ex- 
pressed  in  the  1 7th  verse  of  the  context.  "  And 
if  Christ  be  not  raised.,  your  faith  is  vain  ;  yc 
are  yet  in  your  sins," 

If  rhrist  arose  not  from  the  dead,  we  have 
no  reason  to  confide  in  him  as  a  divine  per* 
son,  the  Messias,  the  Mediator  with  God,  the 
Captain  of  our  salvation  4  and  we  have  no  rea> 
son  to  expect  reconciliation  to  God  through 
him ;  ^  ea,  we  can  have  no  hope  in  the  resur- 
rection of  tlic  dead  ;•  for  the  apostle  expressly 
says,  "if  the  dead  rise  not,  then  is  not  Christ 
raised."  And  according  to  the  apostle's  mode 
of  reasoning,  (who  was  a  good  reasoner)  if 
Christ  be  not  raised,  then  will  the  dead  rise 
not,  agreeably  to  the  18th  verse — *•  ihen  they 
also  which  are  fallen  asleep  in  Christ  are  per- 
ished." But  ^  the  ai^tle  turns  his  hypotheti- 
cal mode  of  reasoning  into  affirmative  and  pos> 


i 


itive  assertions ;  as  in  verse  20th,  and  on  ; — 
"  But  now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead,  and 
become  the  first  fruits  of  them  that  slept.  For 
since  by  man  came  death,  by  man  came  also 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  For  as  in  Adam 
nil  die,  even  so  in  Christ  shall  all  be  made 
alive.  But  every  man  in  his  own  order : 
Christ  the  first  fruits :  afterward  they  that  are 
Christ's  at  his  coming.  Then  cometh  the 
end,  when  he  shall  have  delivered  up  the  king- 
dom to  God,  even  the  Father  ;  when  he  shall 
have  put  down  all  rule  and  all  authority,  and 
power.  For  he  must  reign,  till  he  haih  put 
all  enemies  under  his  feet.  The  last  enciny 
that  shall  be  destroyed  is  death."  Thus  we 
may  see  the  importance  attached  to  the  death 
of  Christ. 

And  the  certainty  of  his  triumphing  over 
death,  and  rcasccnding  his  native  heaven,  can- 
not he  reasonably  doubted,  when  wc  consider 
that  he  was  actually  seen  alive,  after  his  cruci- 
fiction,  by  many  creditable  witnesses.  He 
was  seen  of  Cephas,  of  the  twelve,  and  after- 
wards of  above  five  hundred  at  once  ;  some 
of  whom  were  fallen  asleep,  but  many  remain- 
ed when  Paul  wrote  the  above  testimony. 
And  last  of  all  he  was  seen  of  the  apostle,  who, 
in  all  his  writin?;s,  and  in  the  whole  history  of 
his  life,  appears  to  have  been  a  man  of  good 
abilities,  on^iderable  literature,  and  of  a  sound, 
strong  mind,  not  addicted  tc^  enthusiastic 
flights,  but  in  all  his  reasoning  appealed  to  in 


b 

11 


o 
ai 
ri 
it 
b 

ir 
ai 
tf 

g 
g 

h 
ti 
tl 
in 

P« 

St 

si 
ei 

VI 

ta 

c 

n 
si 


and  on ; — 
lie  dead,  ntid 
It  slept.  For 
in  came  also 
r  an  in  Adano 

all  be  made 

own  order: 

they  that  are 

Cometh  the 

up  the  king- 
»vhf  n  he  shall 
uthority,  and 

he  hath  put 
c  last  enemy 
"     Thus  we 

to  the  death 

nphing  over 
heaven,  can- 
1  we  consider 
fter  his  cruci- 
tnesscs.  He 
re,  and  after- 
once ;  some 
many  remain- 
e  testimony, 
apostle,  who, 
o!e  history  of 
man  of  good 
lid  of  a  sound, 
>  enthusiastic 
prpealed  to  in 


157 

contestible  facfl,  as  the  foundatioti  of  his  ar. 
.^iments,  which  he  knew  were  incontrovcrti- 
ble,  and  must  be  acknowledged  by  bis  oppo. 
nents. 

Another  important  article  of  the  gospel  of 
our  salvation,  IS,  that  Human  bodies  shall  rise 
again.  *•  This  corruptible  shall  put  on  incor- 
ruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  put  on  immortal- 
ity," ••  For  we  are  not  mpointed  unto  wrath, 
but  to  obtain  salvation."  So  we  see  that  man  is 
appointed  to  obtain  salvation  through  Jesus 
Christ,  See  verse  19th  of  the  context — '•![ 
in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ,  we 
are  of  all  men  the  most  miserable."  See  also 
the  20th  verse,  and  on,  before  quotul.  How 
glorious  a  discovery  this !  What  a  display  of . 
gospel  grace !  This  mortal  shall  put  on  immor- 
tality I  That  which  is  sown  in  weakness  shall 
be  rais»:d  in  power ;  that  which  is  sown  a  na- 
tural  body  shall  be  raised  a  spiritual  body ; 
that  which  is  sown  an  dishonor  shall  be  raised 
in  glory! 

Another  most  important  article  of  the  gos- 
pel  which  St.  Paul  preached,  is  this,  that  Je- 
sus,  the  Son  of  >God,  the  Saviour  of  the  world, 
shall  sway  the  mediatorial  sceptre,  till  all  the 
enemies  of  the  moral  administration  of  Jeho- 
vah shall  be  subdued,  and  brou^^ht  iAto  volun- 
Jary,  cheerful  subjection.  "  For  he,'»  that  is 
^hnst,  "  nmst  reign,  till  he  hath  put  all  ene- 
Jnies  binder  his  leet.  The  last  enemy  that; 
Shall  be  destroye4  «  «le^th.    For  he,"  that  is 


i 


i 


U8 


I 


G  )(1  Supreme,  God  the  Father  of  all,  "  hath 
put  all  things  under  his,"  that  is,  under  Christ, 
the  Son's,  *'feet.  But  when  he  saith.  All 
ihinRs  are  put  under  him,  it  is  manifest  that 
he,"  the  Father,  *'  is  excepted,  which  did  put 
all  things  under  him,"  the  Son.  "  And  when 
ull  things  shall  be  subdued  unto  him,"  the  Son, 
*'  then  shall  the  Son  also  himself  be  subject," 
made  like  unto  his  brethren,  "  unto  him  that 
put  all  things  under  him,  that  God  may  be  all 
in  all." 

The  apostle  then  proceeds  to  state,  what 
has  been  before  noticed,  the  surprising  trans- 
formation of  human  bodies  at  the  rt-surrection. 
Sec  verses  -#2,  44.—"  So  also  is  the  resuntc- 
tion  of  the  dead  ;  it  is  sown  in  corruption,  it 
is  raised  in  incorruption ;  it  is  sown  in  dishon- 
or, it  is  raised  in  glory  ;  it  is  sown  in  weakness, 
h  is  raised  in  power ;  it  is  sown  a  natural  bo- 
dv,  it  is  raised  a  spiritual  body." 

'  O  how  great,  how  glorious  will  this  change 
be,  of  our  poor,  frail,  mortal  bodies ! 

The  apostle  next  proceeds  to  speak  of  the 
change  which  living  men  shall  experience, 
when  Christ  shall  come  again,  and  the  celestial 
trumpet  shall  raise  the  dead.  See  verse  51 — 
53. — ««  Behold,  I  shew  you  a  mystery  j  Wc 
shall  not  all  sleep,  but  shall  all  be  changed,  in 
a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  e}e,  at  the 
last  trumpet,  for  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  aiid 
the  dead  shall  be  raised  incorruptible,  and  we 
shall  be  changed.    For  this    corruptible  viust 


II,  "hath 
tT  Christ, 
saith,  All 
nifcst  that 
:h  did  put 
/Vnd  when 
'  the:  Son, 
subiect," 
HIM  that 
Tiay  be  all 

ate,  what 
iing  trans- 
urrcction. 
rcsuritc- 
ruption,  it 
in  dishon* 
weakness, 
atural  bo- 

iis  change 

leak  of  the 
xperience, 
le  celestial 
-erseSl— 
?ry  ;  We 
hanged,  in 
ej  e,  at  the 
sound,  ajid 
le,  and  we 
ptible  must 


put  on  incorruption,  and  this  mortal  must  put 
on  immortality."     This  will  be  a  great,  and 
an  instantaneous  change  of  corruptible  for  in- 
corruption, and  of  mortal  for  immortality,  of 
which  we  can  now  have  no  adequate  concep- 
tion.     When   this  great  and  mighty  change 
shall  take  place,  then  shall  be  the  destruction 
of  temporal  or  bodily  clay  ;    sec  verse  54. — 
••  So  when  this  corruption  shall  have  put  on 
incorruption,  then  shall  be  brought  to  pass  the 
saying  that  is  written.  Death  is  swallowed  up 
in  victory."     The  glorious  truths  that  will  al- 
so be  brought  to  p.nss  in  connexion  with  Ihis 
saying,  '*  Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory," 
we  have  recorded  in  the  prophecy  of  Isuiab, 
chap.  XXV.  vcr.  6—8.     ♦•And  in  this  moun. 
tain  shall  the  Lord  of  hosts  make  unto  all  peo- 
ple a   feast  of  fat  things,  a  feast  of  wines  on 
the  lees  ;  of  fat  things  full  of  marrow,  of  wines 
on  the  lees  well  reftned.     And  he  will  destroy 
in  this  mountain  the  face  of  the  covering  cast 
over  all  people,  and  the  vail  that  is  spread  over 
all  nations.     He  will  swallow  «p  death  in  vie 
tory  ;  and  the  Lord  God  will  wipe  away  tears 
from  off  all  faces ;  and  the  rebuke  of  his  peo- 
ple shall  he  take  away  from  off  all  the  earth  : 
for  the  Lord  hath  spoken  it."     So  we  see  that 
this  glorious  feast  teat  shall  be  made  unto  all 
people^  is  to  be  fulfilled,  according  to  the  sense 
of  the  apostle,  when  this  mortal  shall  have  put 
on  immortality,  and  this  corruptible  is  clothed 
with  incorruption,      In  confirmation  of  this 


J 


il 


16b 


glorious  truth,  the  Revelator  hath  said,  Rev. 
XX i.  3,  4—"  Behold,  the  tabernacle  ot  God  is 
(or  shall  be)  with  men,  and  he  will  dwell  with 
the  m,  and  they  shall  be  his  people,  and  God 
himself  shall  be  with  them,  and  be  their  God. 
And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes  ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  nei- 
ther sorrow  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be 
any  more  pain :  for  the  former  things  are  pass, 
ed  away." 

The  apostle  then  tells  us  what  creates  the 
terrors  of  a  dying  scene,  even  sin  against  the 
laws  of  God.  See  verse  56.—**  The  sting  of 
death  is  sin ;  and  the  strength  of  sin  is  the  law." 
Then  follow  the  words  of  the  text, — *•  But 
thanks  be  to  God  which  giveth  us  the  victory 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

II.  As  a  practical  improvement  of  the  text, 
we  may  consider,  1.  What  death  is,  with  some 
of  its  accidents  and  consequences :  2.  How 
Christ  hath  mitigated  its  terrors,  and  given  us 
the  victory  over  it ;  and  take  notice  of  our  ob- 
ligations  to  him  for  so  inestimable  a  favor. 

1.  Death,  as  it  respects  only  our  body,  is 
the  extinction  ot  our  mere  animal  life  ;  which 
is  common  to  man,  beasts,  birds,  creeping 
things,  and  all  animated  nature ;  and  is  gene- 
rally attended  with  great  and  exquisite  pain 
and  distress.  This  is  evident  (except  when 
the  cause  is  too  sudden  to  be  felt)  from  appa< 
rent  circumstances ;  and  also  as  it  is  reasona- 
ble to  suppose;  upon  so  great  an  e£fect  as  will 


c 
a 

0 

t( 
t 

(] 

ti 
u 

s 

a 

n 
a 

c 
e 

1 

s 
c 
i 
t 
t 
a 
I< 


aid,  Rev. 
ot  God  is 
[well  with 
and  God 
heir  God. 
rom  their 
kath^  nei- 
1  there  be 
are  pass> 

eates  the 
gainst  the 
e  sting  of 
the  law.*' 
.— ••  But 
le  victory 

*  the  text, 
I'ith  some 
2.  How 
given  us 
f  our  ob- 
'avor, 
body,  is 
; ;  which 
creeping 
is  gene- 
site  pain 
pt  when 
Dtn  appa* 
reasona- 
t  as  will 


161 

cause  all  the  vital  powers,  and  every  coarser 
and  finer  nerve  of  the  human  frame,  to  cease  to 
operate. 

Our  bodies,  at  death,  are  left  with  ouf  friends 
to  be  interred  in  the  cold  and  silent  eartli,  and 
to  crumb'.e  and  moulder  back  to  their  primor- 
dinal  dust.  "  Then  shall  the  dust  return  to 
the  earth  as  it  was ;  and  the  spirit  shall  return 
unto  God  who  gave  it." 

At  death  we  close  our  eyes  on  all  this  tran- 
sitory world,  and  the  changing  scenes  of  things. 
We  bid  adieu,  for  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time, 
as  God  shall  please,  to  kindred,  friends  and 
neighbors — to  all  the  joys,  all  the  sorrows,  and 
all  the  trifles  of  time  and  sense. 

Death  transmits  our  souls  into  the  presence 
of  our  Maker,  and  into  a  new  and  unexperi- 
enced scene  of  things"  of  which  we  can  now 
lorn\  but  very  im^^erfcct  ideas. 

But  as  we  are  moral  and  accountable  beings, 
so  it  is  the  scriptural  idea  that  death  is  suc- 
ceeded by  our  actual  appearance  in  the  more 
immediate  and  sensible  presence  of  God  and 
the  Lamb,  of  whomwe  shall  receive  such  sen- 
tence and  appointment  as  will  be  consistent  for 
a  Being  of  infinite  goodness,  justice,  mercy, 
love  and  truth,  to  giva. 

Of  the  process  of  this  personal  interview 
and  examination'  before  God  and  the  Lamb 
which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world,  we 
are  greatly  unacquainted  ;  though,  as  a  cer- 
tain consequence  of  death,  we  have  the  utmost 

O  2 


ng-^^ 


162 


f 


reason  to  expect  it.  Here,  •'  we  know  In  pari, 
and  we  prophesy  in  part,  but  when  that  which 
is  perfect  is  come,  then  that  which  is  in  part 
shall  be  clone  away."  "  Therefore,  judge  no- 
thing before  the  time,  until  the  Lord  come, 
who  both  will  bring  to  light  the  hidden  things 
of  darkness,  and  will  make  manifest  the  coun- 
sels of  the  heart ;  and  then  shall  every  man 
have  praise  of  God." — 1  Cor.  xiii.  9,  10.— 
iv.  5. 

After  this  important  interview  with  our  Ma  • 
ker,  we  shall  enter  into  thai  socitty,  ?nd  upon 
the  employments  andeiijoyments— or  into  that 
state  of  suffering  and  punishment  inseparably 
connected  with  sin* — to  which  we  shall  be 
destined  by  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness. 

2.  How  Christ  hath  mitigated  the  terrors  of 
death,  and  given  us  the  victory  over  it;  with 

•  Tho  reader  will  here  notice  that  Mr.  Foster  held  to 
the  doctrine  of  future  punishment,  though  he  believed 
in  the  final  restoration  of  all  rational  intelligences  n  ho- 
liness and  happiness.  These  are  his  words :— "  I  frank- 
ly  dec'are  to  youi  that,  I  feel  myself  disposed  to  extend 
»h2  divinely  benevolent  design  of  gospel  grace  and  mer- 
cy, in  such  a  mat>ner,  as  to  Include  all  the  children  of 
^dam>  Nor  can  I  possibly  understand  any  dtfinitions 
nf  the  divine  attributes,  or  interpretations  of  the  declara- 
tions of  the  gospel  itself,  upon  any  other  supposition  of 
the  extent  of  gospel  grace  and  mercy.  For  this  theory 
of  the  divine  attributes  and  moral  government,  and  ex- 
tent of  gospel  grace  and  mercy,  I  am  willing  to  write, 
to  preach,  and  to  converse,  so  long  as  I  live,  and  shall 
be  aole  to  use  my  pen  and  tongue."  See  Fos'.ers  Exam- 
ination p3ge  289. 


our 
favo 

A 
crea 
gav( 
Goc 
en  < 
had 
drea 
thro 

K 
disc 
the 

1 

1 
don 
the 
not 
fror 
pie 
retlt 
dea 
con; 

2 

rect 

<( 

we 

gloi 
We  i 
"F 
shai 


..:vMBt',^i^'-«J^  w-.isH 


t*mm 


o\v  In  pari, 
that  which 
is  in  part 
,  judge  no- 
ord  come, 
[den  things 
t  the  coun- 
every  man 
.  9,  10.— 

:h  our  Ma  • 
,  ?nd  upon 
)r  into  that 
nsepaiably 
e  shall  be 
dness. 
i  terrors  of 
?rit;  with 

osterheld  to 
he  believed 
;ences  to  ho- 
:— "  I  frank- 
ed to  extend 
ace  and  mer- 
e  children  of 
y  dtfinitions 
the  declara- 
apposition  of 
r  this  theory 
lent,  and  ex- 
ing  to  write» 
Ci  and  shall 
s'.ers  Exam- 


163 

otir  obligations  to  him  for  so  inestimable  a 
favor. 

After  the  apostle  had  plainly  told  us  what 
created  the  terrors  of  death,  even  sin,  and  what 
gave  sin  its  terrific  efficacy,  even  the  law  of 
God,  he  devoutly  thanks  God  that  he  hath  giv- 
en christians  the  the  victory  over  death,  i.  e. 
had  removed  its  terrors,  and  unclothed  it  of  its 
dreadful  appearance  and  frightful  garb,  &c. 
through  Jesus  Christ. 

Hence,  by  the  help  of  our  context,  we  may 
discover  what  Christ  hath  dgne  to  free  us  from 
the  dre  ad  and  terror  of  a  d;  ing  hour, 

1.  "  He  hath  died  for  our  sins." 

Though  we  are  sinners,  we  are  sure  of  par- 
don, peace  and  reconciliation  with  God,  thro' 
the  merits  of  the  Saviour !  For  Chriht  came 
not  to  continue  us  in  our  sins,  but  to  save  us 

J'rom our  sins.  "For  he  shall  save  his  peo- 
ple from  their  sins.**  Reason  dictates  that  this 
reflection  must  greatly  mitigate  the  terror  of 
death,  and  administer  unspeakable  comfortand 
consolation  to  the  dying  christian, 

2.  VVe  have  hope  ihrbugh  Christ  of  a  resur- 
rection and  a  future  life.  / 

"  If  in  this  life  only  we  have  hope  in  Christ, 
we  are  of  all  men  the  most  mihcrable."  But 
glory  to  God  for  his  rich  and  sovereign  grace. 
We  are  not  left  to  temporary  hopes  from  Christ. 
'*  For  as  in  Adam  a]^  die,  even  so  in  Christ 
shall  all  be  made  alive."      The  effects  of  di- 


i 

i  I 


164 


s! 


W\ 


vine  grace  shall  be  as  extensive  as  those  of 
Adam's  sin.  "  For  where  sin  hath  abounded, 
grace  doth  much  more  abound." 

When  the  dyins^  christian  reflects,  that  what 
he  now  sows  in  corruption,  iihall  be  raised  m 
iiicorruption — what  he  sows  in  dishonor  shall 
be  raised  in  glor}'^ — what  he  sows  in  weakness 
shall  be  tai-sed  in  power — what  he  sows  a  na- 
tural body  shall  be  raised  a  spiritual  bcdy — 
with  what  divine  consolation  and  glorious  hope 
may  he  lay  his  body  down  to  sleep  in  the  dust, 
till  God  shall  call  it  to  celestial  life  } 

Immortality,  which  was  but  conjectural  by 
the  wisest  Pagan  philosophers,  is  clearly 
preached  by  the  gospel,  and  demonstrated  by 
the  resurrection  of  Christ, 

What  returns  of  grateful  praise  and  sincere 
obedience  are  due  to  God,  who  haih  given  us 
the  victory  over  death,  by  the  clear  and  cer- 
tain hope;  of  a  blessed  immortality  through  Jo- 
sus  Christ. 

3.  All  needful  and  divine  assistance  and  sup- 
port, in  a  dying  hour,  may  the  christian  hope 
for  through  Jesus  Christ. 

Our  flesh  is  so  weak,  our  natural  faculties 
so  frail  and  feeble,  that  after  all  the  glorious 
hopes  of  peace  and  pardon  through  the  blood 
of  the  everlasting  covenant,  and  of  a  resurrec- 
tion to  life  and  immortality,  when  death  shall 
approach,  we  shall  need  the  rod  and  staff"  of 
God  for  our  support.     This  also  we  may  hojic 


for,  sii 
cr  lea\ 

I; 

1. 

atives 

Yoi 
to  att( 
u  kind 
fort  ar 

Thi 
cmn  5 
e.trlies 
Thoui 
any  p« 
cndun 
on  ac 
nexioi 
and  in 
preser 
a  victi 
aching 
also  s 
three  i 
long  a 
mcnth 
they  w 
fulem 
alive,  ; 

She 


Ifi 


\ 


ve  as  those  of 

ith  abounded, 

» 

cts,  that  what 
11  be  raised  m 
lishonor  shall 
s  in  weakness 
he  sows  a  na- 
itiial  bcdy — 
glorious  hope 
■p  in  the  dust, 
ifef 

onjcctural  by 
,  is  clearly 
lonstrated  by 

e  and  sincere 
laih  given  us 
ear  and  cer- 
/  through  Jc- 

mce  and  sup- 
hristian  hope 

ural  faculties 
the  glorious 
gh  the  blood 
)f  a  rtsurrec- 
11  death  shall 
and  staff  of 
ive  tnay  hojie 


165 

for,  since  God  hath  assured  us  that  he  will  nev- 
er leave  us,  nor  forsake  us. 

Improvilment,  by  usual  Addresses. 

1.  To  the  children,  and  other  surviving  rel- 
atives of  the  deceased : 

You,  my  respected  friends,  are  now  called 
to  attend  the  interment  of  the  last  remains  of 
a  kind  and  tender  parent,  whose  presence,  com- 
fort and  assistance  you  have  long  enjoyed. 

This  is,  on  many  accounts,  an  affecting,  sol- 
emn scene.  She  was  an  head  of  one  of  the 
cirliest  families  who  first  settled  this  town. 
Though  she  never  was  captivated,  nor  received 
any  personal  injury  from  the  savages,  yet  sha 
endured  many  hardships,  and  severe  sufferings^ 
on  account  of  the  injuries  done  to  her  con- 
nexions and  friends,  by  the  natives.  A  kind 
and  indulgent  husband;  father  of  the  children 
present,  was  presented  to  her  a  ghastly  corpse, 
a  victim  of  savage  barbarity ! — Oh  the  heart 
aching  pangs  your  mother  then  endured  !  She 
also  suffered  on  account  of  the  captivity  of 
three  of  her  children ;-  -of  two  of  them  for  the 
long  and  painful  term  of  three  years,  and  a  few 
mcnths.  But  through  the  goodness  of  Godi 
they  were  all  reiurned  to  her  joyful  and  grate- 
ful embraces  again ;  and  two  of  them  are  now 
alive,  and  attending  on  this  solemn  occasion. 

She  was  born  Agril  24th,  1710,  and  died 


I 


'^  \ 


\ 


166 

May  5th,  1797,  having  just  entered  her  88th 
year. 

A  numerous  posterity  hath  descended  from 
her ;  and,  by  her  blood,  or  affinity,  she  was 
connected  with  a  great  part  oi' the  families  in 
this  town. 

She  left,  at  her  death,  two  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  lineal  descendjnts. 

And  permit  me  to  add,  that  as  your  dear 
departed  mother  was  an  early  sHtler  in  this 
town,  she  must  have  gone  through  a  variety  of 
troublesome  scenes — experienced  much  of  the 
goodness  of  God,  and  many  adverse-provi- 
dences. She  haih  been  a  kind  indulgent  pa> 
rent — an  obliging  neighbor — a  faithful  friend — 
specially  kind  and  useful  in  times  of  sickness 
and  distress,  particularly  in  thb  infant  days  of 
this  settlement. . 

I  am  averse  to  the  general  practice  of  giving 
characters  in  funeral  avocations  ;  or  of  being 
very  positive  of  the  imnieduite  happy  state  of 
departed  friends.  But  we  have  reason  to  hope 
that  the  goodness  and  mercy  of  God,  in  Christ 
lesus,  will  admt  to  eternal  rest  and  peacs,  a 
friend  who  hath  seen  and  enjt)vtd,  done  and 
suffeVed  so  nfuch,  as  your  depicted  mother 
hath. 

You  will  do  well  to  attend  t<i  her  good  ad- 
vijes,  and  foUojv  her  good  examples.  Love 
God,  and  Christ,  and   religion.     Remember 


that  no 
stantia 

hen 
and  di 
those  \ 
thing  t 

Ll>o 
grave  ; 
for  us 
glory  < 
tion  to 

B., 
and  :e. 
May  C 
my  de 
to  you 

2.  1 
will  cl 

Yoi 
attend 
neight 
first  ir 
its  inf£ 
prcsen 

Ma 
are  fai 
low  th 
we  thi 
doubt 
but  n< 
tant, 


itercd  her  88 th 

lescended  f  rom 
inity,  she  was 
the  families  in 

hundred  and 

;  as  your  dear 
stttler  in  this 
igh  a  variety  of 
ed  much  of  the 
adverse-  provi- 
i  indulgent  pa- 
lithful  friend — 
nes  of  sickness 
infant  days  of 

icticc  of  giving 
is  ;  or  of  being 
happy  state  of 
reason  to  hope 
God,  in  Chribt 
St  and  peacs,  a 
vtd,  done  and 
parted  mother 

>  her  good  ad- 
asuples.  Love 
1.     Remember 


167       , 

that  nothing  but  real  religion  can  giv*  you  sub' 
stantial  comfort,  when  you  come  to  die. 

ttemettiber  that  Christ  huth  conquered  death, 
and  disarmed  him  of  his  terrors  :  so  that  all 
those  who  believe  in,  and  obey  him,  have  no* 
thing  to  fear  from  that  source. 

Luok  now,  my  respectctl  friends,  into  the 
grave  ; — it  is  the  h-use  appointed  for  jou, — 
for  us  all.  Improve  this  providmrrc  to  the 
glory  of  God  ;  and  !vt  It  aw;  ken  y<tur  atten- 
tion to  the  things  of  eterni,!  pt-aoc. 

Bl  piUient,  submissive,  n-signed  to  God; 
and  .f.isn  ob<  dience  by  the  things  you  suffer. 
May  God  he  present  with,  assist  and  bless  you, 
my  dear  friends;  and  sanctify  this  providence 
to  you.  for  your  et^nal  good. 

2.  A  few  words  to  the  whole  congregation 
will  close  the  subject. 

You,  ray  respected  audience,  are  called  to 
attend  to  the  funeral  solemnities  of  an  aged 
neighbor,  acquaintance  and  friend  :  one  of  the 
first  inhabitiuits  of  this  town ;  who  saw  it  in 
its  infancy, — in  its  maturer  years,  and  in  its 
present  state. 

Many  of  you,  my  aged  fathers  and  mothers, 
are  far  advanced  in  life,  and  must  quickly  fol- 
low this  aged  mother  in  Israel,  whose  retnains 
we  this  day  inter.  M^'  y  reflections  will,  no 
doubt,  enter  your  minds  on  this  Occasion  s 
but  none  can  be  more  solemin,  or  more  impor- 
tant, than  this*  that  you  must  quickly  die. 


i. 


168 

Reflect  that  it  is  God's  design,  in  this  provi- 
dence, to  admonish,  and  do  you  good*  It  is  a 
call  to  you  ;— *'  Be  ye  also  ready." 

Remtmber,  my  fellow  travellers,  bound 
with  me  to  a  vast  eternity,  and  improve  the 
gladsome  idea,  that  God  hath  given  us  the 
victory  over  death,  through  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ ;  to  whom  be^lory  for  e  ver.     A  men . 


i^:^\rr^:^f^-r='^'" 


i. 


in  this  provi- 
food.     It  is  a 

I'l'ers,  bound 
improve  the 
given  us  the 
-  Lord  JcsuK 
r.     Amen, 


"i. 


169 


' 


'ISlamet  of  tenons  Killed  in  Charlestown,  w\o.  4, 
ana  time  when — by  the  Indians. 

Seth  Putnam,  May  2, 1748.— Samuel  Fiirns. 
worth,  Joseph  Allen,  Peter  Pcrin,  Aaron  Ly- 
on, Joseph  Massey,  May  24,  1746.- Jcdecli- 

ah  Winchcl,  June  or  July,  1746.     Phips, 

August  3,  1746. — Isaac  Goodalc,  Nathaniel 
G -uld,  October,  1747.— Obadiah  Sartwell, 
June.   17.9.— Lieut  Moses  VVillard,  June  18, 


175G.  — Asahel    Shebbins, 
Josiah  Kollogg,  17.')9. 


August, 


1758.. 


Number  taken  Prisoners  by  the  Indians^  from 
Uhorlesioivn,  Ao.  4. 

Capt.  John  Spiff" 'rd,  Isaac  Parker,  Stephen 

Farnswoith,  April  lU,  1746.     Anderson, 

October,  1747. — Enos  Stevens,  June  17,  1749 
-  .James  Johnson,  Susanna  Johnson,  Sylvanus 
Johiison,  Susan  Johnson,  Polly  Johnson,  Miri- 
am VVillard,  Peter  Labarrce»  hben'r  Farns- 
worth,  August  29,  1754. — Samp  on  (Joicfax, 
David  Farnsworth,  Thomas  Robins,  Thomas 
Rabins,  Asa  Sp  ffird  May,  1756. — Mrs. 
Robins,  Isaac  Parker,  David  Hill,  August, 
1758. — Joseph  Willard,  wife  and  five  children, 
June  7,  1760. 


I 


jiB 


170 

fl 

Letter  from  Col.  Lydius  to  Mrs*  Johmoru 
Albant,  Mav  5,  1755. 

Mrs.  Johnson— I  received  yours  of  the 
6th  April,  with  one  for  your  husband  ;  it  seems 
you  are  concerned  whether  or  no  he  got  sale 
here  :  it  seems  also  by  yours,  that  you  mention 
to  have  received  a  lefter  from  me,  and   none 
from  your  husband.     When  he  left  Albany  to 
go  to  New.  England,  he  It  ft  me  a    letter  for 
you,  to  be   forwarded  the    first  opportunity, 
which  I  did  with  that  you   received  from  me. 
I  have  expected  your  husband  this  three  months 
past,  to  come  and  fetch  you  and  your  family. 
Since  he    left  Albany  I  never  received  a  hnc 
from  him,  and  the  occasion  of  the  delay  lean- 
not  conceive,  without  it  is  the  difficulty  to  pro- 
cuie  silver  money.    Keep  good  heart,  I  hope 
you  will  soon  see  your  husband,  is  the    wish 

'■™""'""'' •■•'"*" ''jOHNW.  LYDIUS. 


From  Col.  Cuyler  to  Mr.  James  Johnson. 

Albany,  June  17, 1755. 

SIR— .1  have  received  yours  of  the  7th  and 
8th  inst.  and  have  noted  the  contents.  I  real- 
Iv  do  not  understand  what  you  write  me  tor  m 
the  first  place— you  say  that  my  bills  were  not 
acoeptcd--atthe    same  Ume  I  find  by  your 


'-•.na^i^fciu- 


-■'^li^.** 


"  I 


thmofu 

1755. 

s  of  the 
it  BceniK 
got  sale 
mention 
nd  none 
Albany  to 
eltcr  for 
lortunity, 
rom  me. 
!e  months 
ir  family, 
ed  a  line 
lay  I  can- 
ity to  pro- 
t,  I  hope 
the    wish 

DIUS. 


ohnson. 

r,  1755. 

tie  7th  and 
s.  I  real- 
:  me  for  in 
3  were  not 
by  your 


171 

draught  on  me  that  you  have  received  on  my 
account  2300  livres,  from  Mr.  La  Come  St. 
Luc.  I  now  send  to  him  438  dollars  for  the 
payment  of  your  draught.  I  am  sorry  that 
Mr.  Rliie  de  Cauognc  has  not  accepted  of  my 
bills,  for  several  reasons.  I  have  now  desired 
La  Corne  St.  Luc  to  let  you  have  700  livres 
besides  the  2300  which  you  have  already  re- 
ceived. I  am,  sir,  your  humble  servant. 
CORNELIUS  CU\LER. 


Ffdfh  Mr,  Johnson  to  Miss  Miriam  TVillard. 
Quebec,  Apail  16,  1756. 

Loving  SisTiR^After  our  love  to  you, 
these  are  to  inform  you  that  we  arc  all  well  at 
present,  as  I  hope  these  wUl  find  vou  and'  our 
little  daughter,  and  aH  other  friends  at  Montre- 
al.   I  have  written  to  you  once  before  now,  and 
wre  have  had  no  answer,  so  that  we  do  not  know 
what  your  circumstances   arc,   only  that  the 
General  was  so  good  as  to   let  us  know  that 
you  and  Susanna  were  well.     I  would  have 
you  go  to  the  General  and  beg  the   favor  to 
«ome  down  here  to  live  with  us  ;  for  I   have 
written  to  the  General,  and  begged  the  samfe 
favor.     I  would  have  you  spare  no  pains,  for  • 
if  you  meet  with  any  misfortunes  it  will  con- 
tribute very  much  to  your  parents  sorrow,  a§ 
well  as  to  ours.    So  I  would  not  have  you  dirf- 


II,  I  ,-miiilf^tiriii.»<'**^ 


^ 


172 

couraffed,  or  harbor  any  thou  ghts  of  staying  in- 
this  countrv,  for  I  do  not  doubt  but  we    shall 
go  home  this  summer  ;  for  I  have  desired  the 
General  to  send  home  those  of  us   that   are 
paid  for,  and  will  stay  in  the  country  till  there 
IS  a  change  of  prisoners  :    and  K  you  cannot 
comedown,  beg  leave  of  the  General  to  let 
vou  write  to  us— let  us  know  what  your  cir- 
cumstances  are.      Give  my  services  to  Mr, 
Du  Quesne  and  Madam,  and   to  Susanna  s 
Jnothers.— We   remain    your  loving  brother 

and  sister.  ,^TTVTr./^vT 

lAMES  &  SUSANNA  JOHNSON. 


From  Miss  Miriam  Willard  to  Mr,  Johnson. 

fWritlen  at  Montreal,  My  or  Jugusf,  1756  ; 

Loving  Brother  and  Sistek, 

Having  received  yours  of  the  5ih  July,  it  be- 
ing the  second,  though  you  have  sent  four— 
wherein  you  give  me  to  understand  that  my 
sister  is  not  well,  and  that  you  would  have  me 
come  down— for  which  I  have  asked  the  lib- 
erty  of  the  General ;  he  does  not  see  fit  to  let 
me  come,  unless  I  would  go  to  prison,  and  1 
think  I  am  better  off  here  than  that  comes  to  ; 
therefore  I  take  this  opportunity  to  inform  you 
of  mv  health  at  this  time,  and  of  Susanna,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  prisoners  here,  (and  my 'o^e 
is  folded  up  in  their  lives)  with  our  friends 


tl 
f 

F 

r 

h 

d 


c 

V 

a 
fi 
I 

s 


a 
a 
d 
h 
I 
a 

8 
y 
I 

^ 


i».'i<^rilMiiiii|j**J.iW'L'l''i*^'- 


J 


aying  la 
e    shall 
red  the 
liat  are 
ill  there 
J  cannot 
al  to  let 
our  cir- 

to  Mr^ 
usanna's 

brother 

SSON. 


Johnson* 
'56; 

jly,  it  be- 
t  four — 
1  that  my 
have  me 
d  the  lib- 
e  fit  to  let 
>on,  and  I 
;omes  to ; 
iform  you 
anna,  and 
d  my  love 
ir  friends 


I 


178 

that  'we  were  taken  with,  to  you  and  to  all 
friends  there.  Susanna  has  had  the  small 
pox,  and  is  prodigiously  marked.  1  would 
not  have  you  be  concerned  about  my  staying 
here,  for  the  longer  I  stay  the  more  anxious 
desires  I  have  to  go  home. 

MIRIAM  WILLARD. 
P.  S. — I  hear  by  Mi*.  Josiah  Foster  of  Win- 
chester, who  was  taken  on  the  7th  of  June, 
with  his  family,  that  our  friends  at  No.  4  were 
all  well,  and  our  brother  7.  mes  was  returning 
from  the  eastward.— Nr-  inore  at  present— 
I  shall  subscribe  myself  in  haste  your  loving 
sister,  '  M.  W, 


From  Mr,  Josiah  Foster  to  Mr,  Jofmson, 

Montreal,  May  16,  1757. 

SIR— After  my  respects  to  you,  your  wife 
and  sister,  hoping  you  are  in  health,  as  we  are 
at  present,  blessed  be  God  for  it.  The  5th 
day  of  this  present  month,  the  Mowhawks 
brought  in  prisoners  from  No.  4,  Mr,  David 
Farnsworth,  Sampson  Colefax,  Deacon  Ad- 
ams, Asa  Spafford,  and  George  Robins,  which 
gives  us  the  sorrowful  news  of  the  death  of 
your  father  Willard,  who  was  killed  by  the 
Indians  last  summer  a  little  way  from  the  fort. 
Your  brother  Moses  was  stabbed  in  the  thigh 
with  a  spear — this  is  all  the  mischief  tliat  has 

P  2 


174 

been  done,  except  the  Indians  burnt  the  mills. 
Mr.  Labarree  hasn^adc  his  escape  from  Mont- 
real, and  has  gone  for  the  English  fort.  1 
should  be  qlad  to  write  you  a  fuller  account  o 
thini>s,  but  it  is  very  difficult  to  write.  I  should 
be  iilad  you  would  write  tome,  to  let  me  know 
How  you  .ue.     So  I  "-in  your  fncnd^^_ 


From 


Mrs.  Bisson   to    Mrs.    Ja/inso?j,    after 
her  return. 

'  Quebec,  Sept.   15,  1757. 


It 


M  V DAM— It  is  with  all  possible  pleasure  I 
do  mvsclf  the  pleasure  to  write,  and  to  let  you 
kno\v  the  duUuess  I  feel  since  your  departure. 
One  would   not   imagine   it,   considermg  the 
little  time  I  had  the  happiness  to  be  acquan-.ted 
with  vou.      1  wish  I  had  it   in  my  power  to 
convince  you  of  the  truth  of  it.  but  the  distance 
hinders  us ;  you  will  know  from  your  husband 
how  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  sec  he  had  done 
for  him  all  the  little  services  in  my  power.     1 
nr?vyou  would  salute  Miss  Minam  m    my 
lame,  and  tell  her  I  wi.h  her  a  pretty  htUe 
husband  at  her  return,  worthy  her  merit,     l^^rn-  ^ 
brace  also  your  two  little  misses  ;    n  .'  daugli-       ^, 
ter  Merv  Ann  assures  you  of  her  respects,  and 
sahnes  kindly  Miss  IMiriain  at;d  the  two  httle 
Misses*— I  beg  you  to  enquire  after  my  son, 


who 
befc 
Bis: 

dea 

him 

tak( 

obli 

yoi 

yoi 

vai 

i 

ass 

Mi 

net 

res 

tw 

yo 

rel 


b< 


r( 

IS 
ft 


lie  TTiills. 

n  Mont- 
fort.  I 
xount  of 
I  should 
me  know 
nd, 

rrER. 


OtJ, 


after 


ViSl, 

ileasure  I 
to  let  you 
leparture. 
lering  the 
icquainted 
'  power  to 
le  distance 
ir  hubbiind 
I  had  done 
power.     I 
,m  in    my 
retty  little 
;rit/   Em- 
IT  '  daugli- 
spects,  and 
c  two  little 
or  mv  son, 


\. 


\> 


175 

who  I  believe  is  taken,  because  he  is  so  long 
Sforehe  comes  homer  his  name  is  James 
Bisson,  son  of  James  Bisson  and  HubellcBa. 
dem.  I  prav  you  again,  that  in  case  you  find 
hm  to  dohhn  what  service  you  can,  and  to 
S  care  of  him :  1  shall  be  everlastmgly 
dDlLed  to  you  for  it.  I  conclude  by  assurmg 
yoX  I Ihall  all  my  life  be,  Madum,  one  of 
Tour  greatest  friends,  and  ><•- humWe  ser- 
vnnt  The  ^VID0W  BIbbUiM. 

Our  neighbor,  M.s.  M.ry  Ann  Deforme 
assures  you  of  her  respects  and  saluU^sM^s 
Miriam'and  the  two  httle  M.sses  Miss  ^ 
nette  and  Tenesa  Vojer  assure  you  ot  vheu 
re  nects,  and  aUo  Mi-s  Mary  Ann  and  he 
twTM  tses.  Adieu,  Madan,  Joh.ison--I  wish 
y  u  heXand  much  joy  upon  Mr.  JolnWs 
i-eturn,  whoisfode;>art  from  hence  immediately. 

PASSPORT -By  Gen.  Monchtotu 

Halifax,  Oct.  19,  Uol, 
The  bearer,  Mr/ James  Johnson  is  at  liber, 
ty  to  take  his  passage  on   board  any  vessel 

bound  to  tire  continent.       ,,,,.,^„^,^^ 
ROBliUT  MONCHION. 

From  Mr.  Johnson  to  Mrs.  '^''J^^^^n- 
FoET  Edward,  June  22,  lioiS. 
My  DEAR-Thi.day  1  have  had   the  sor- 
rowful  news  oi  the    loss  of  ^'^y^car  child. -- 
May  God  sanctify  this  and  all  other  of  his    al- 
fiictive  dispensations    to  us. 


lam    in  good 


m 


health  at  present,  blessed  be  God  for  it,  hoping 
this  will  find  you  and  the  rest  of  my  dear  chil- 
dren in  like  manner.  We  are  to  march  to- 
morrow to  the  Lake.  I  have  nothing  remark- 
able to  tell  you — ^lam  in  haste,  so  I  remain  your 
most  loving  husband,    JAMES  JOHNSON. 

Charlestown,  Jan.  10, 1799^. 
We,  whose  names  are  subscribed,  having 
been  many  years  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Has- 
tings,  formerly  Mrs.  Johnsoi,i,  who  was  capti- 
vated by  the  Indians  in  this  town  in  the  year 
1754,  are  willing  to  say  in  her  favor,  that  we 
have  ever  considered  her  as  a  woman  of  vera- 
city, and  that  she  hath  ever  sustained  a  good 
character.  Some  of  us  were  in  town  when 
she  was  captivated,  and  none  of  us  have  reason 
to  disbelieve  the  statement  of  facts  which  she 
has  given  the  public. 


PETER  LABARREE, 
THOMAS  PUTNAM, 
MOSES  WILLARD, 
WrlLUAM  HEYWOOD, 
JOSEPH  WILLARD, 
SYLVANUS  HASTINGS,  ; 
TIMOTHY  PUTNAM,       I 
ABEL  WALKER,  I 

SAMUEL  WETHERBE,   J 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR, 
TIMOTHY  CARLETON, 
OLIVER  HASTINGS, 
JONATHAN  BAKER, 
ELIJAH  GROUT, 
DEMELLGROur, 
BEZALEEL  SHAW, 
SETH  GROUT. 
WILLIAM  GILBERT':- 


1 5* 


hi 


I 


r 

^1 


.  u 


PRO 

Tl 


L. 


B 

and 
me  i 
this 

sett! 

(rep 
youi 
Con 
Johi 
Bat 
the 
vas" 
ivei 

dis( 
ord 
bot 
the 
are 
Ca 


ITT 


it,  hoping 

dear  chil- 

march  to- 

r  remark- 


:main  your 
HNSON. 

3, 1799'. 
id,  having 
Mrs.  Has- 
was  capti- 
,  the  year 
tr,  that  we 
in  of  vera- 
led  a  good 
own  when 
lave  reason 
which  she 

r 

e 

r 

•I 


Captain  Johnson's  Commisticn, 

PUOVaNCE  OF  THE  MASSACHUSETTS  BAY  I 

IH^MAS  POWNALL,  Esq.  Captam 
General  and  Governor  in  Chiet,  in 
and  over  His  Majesty's  Province  of 
L  S.  the  Massachusetts  Bay  in  New- 
England,  and  Vice  Admiral  of  the 
same  &c. 
To  James  Johnson,  Esq.- -Gret/wi^. 


B 


lY  Virtue  of  the  Power  and  Authority  in 
and  Iv  His  Majerty's  Royal  Commission  to 
me  granted  to  be  Captain  G«neral,  &c.  over 
this  H's  Majesty's  Province  of  the  Massachu- 
sc  ts  Bay  aforesaid,  I  do  by  these  Presents 
(reposinq  especial  Trust  and  Confidence  m 
xmr  Loyaltv,  Courage  and  good  Conduct) 
'co^^stUut'c  and  Appelant  You  the  said  James 
Johnson  to  be  Captain  of  a  Company  in  he 
Battalion  of  Light  Infantry  to  be  formed  out  ot 
the  Forces  now  raised  by  me  lor  a  general  In- 
vasion of  Canada,  commanded  by  Colonel  Ol- 

'"^  Yo'ifar"  the'reforc  carefully  and  diligently  to 
discharge  the  Duty  of  a  Captain  in. leading, 
ordering  and  exercising  said  company  in  Arms, 
bodi  inferior  Officers  and  Soldiers,  and  to  keep 
them  in  good  Order  and  Discipline,  and  they 
are  hereby  commanded  to  obey  you  as  their 
Captain ;  and  you  are  yourself  to  observe  and. 


178 

follow  such  Orders  and  Instructions,  as  you 
shall  from  time  t<y  time  receive  from  the  Gen- 
eral and  Commander  in  Chief  of  His  Majes- 
ty's  Forces  in  North  America,  your  Colonel  or 
any  other  your  superior  Officer  according  to 
the  Rules  and  Discipline  of  War  in  pursuance 
of  the  Trust  hereby  reposed  in  You. 

Given  under  my  Hand  and  Seal  at  Arms  at 

Boston,  the  thirtieth  Day  of  March,  in  the 

thirty-first  Year  of  the  Reign  ej  His  Ma- 

ieitv  Aintr  George  the  Second,  Anno  Dom- 

4ii,  1758.  T.  POWNALL. 

By  His  Excellency's  Command, 

A.  OLIVER,  Secretary. 
I* 


J^JJVIS. 


mi  ■ 


^itmmi 


ons,  as  yoa 
)m  the  Gen- 
His  Majes- 
ir  Colonel  or 
iccording  to 
in  pursuance 

3U. 

j/  at  Arms  at 
\^arch,  in  the 
1  ej  His  Ma- 
,  Anno  Dom» 
WNALL. 

cretary. 


w  A.fl 


;,fe 


f 


^. 


""^f^aK" -J** ■     '^wti'-H^^'a.^!g^epm*^i!j^'t-jr''^--^nN'--t-!!i^' ''iii-.'L'    •.mmrf""'^^^-^'^ 


